by Marian Wells
He was silent, staring into the growing dusk. “You were at the last church meeting when President Phelps read the article on marriage. What did you think of it?”
“Think?” Jenny echoed. “Why, nothing. Seems it’s not a bit different than what we’ve always been told.”
“Well,” Tom said slowly, “I mostly wondered if you’d been hearin’ rumors about some of the men misbehavin’. There’s rumors circulatin’ ’bout the Mormons practicing polygamy.” At her blank look, he added, “Havin’ more’n one wife. Jen, don’t you believe it, and don’t you let any fella persuade you different.”
Jen laughed. “Oh, Tom,” she said, “I’m not newborn. I know there’s fellows who’ll pass off any story, and I’m not swayed by their talk.” She got to her feet and pressed her face against his for a moment. “You are the dearest brother a person could have. I love you for caring for your silly little sister. Now I’ll be going before the snow’s too heavy for walking.”
Tom watched her walk down the street, relieved that he had said part of it, but still troubled by the serious-faced men he had confronted that morning.
“Our prophet,” he addressed the line of harnesses hanging in the deserted tack-room, “is too good-lookin’ for his own welfare. I hope his good looks don’t do him in.” He sighed heavily.
The words Warren Parrish and Oliver Cowdery had said followed Tom as he went about his work. We know for a fact that Joseph has Fannie as wife; we’ve spied on them and found them together.
As he sorted harnesses he muttered, “Joe, you told me those fellas were lyin’. I’ve got to believe you, no matter what. There’s nothin’ else I know, and there’s Jenny; I’m responsible for her.”
****
Jenny went home to Sally and Andy Morgan and baby Tamara. Her dismal failure at the Lewis home was soon forgotten, and January slipped into February.
Sally had assured Jenny that anyone would have failed with old Mrs. Lewis. But Jenny’s thoughts whispered back, Not a white witch. And not someone who’s looking for even more power.
On the days Sally and Jenny weren’t busy, Jenny slipped away to her room to read deeply in the green book. After one frustrating session, she closed it, saying, “Oh, how I long to see Clara; if only Adela were here!” Even as she whispered the words, she admitted that the reason for her unhappiness was not her failure with Mrs. Lewis, but the feeling of powerlessness. Staring at the book, she whispered, “If I couldn’t succeed with her, how do I get what I want?”
Crossing the room, she pulled out the hunk of wax Clara had given her. “Emma,” she whispered. But immediately she pushed it away, shivering at the horrible images it conjured.
Later she pulled out the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants and tried to read them, but within minutes she yawned and exclaimed, “Brother Joseph, we must have a conference!”
When she started down the street that February day, with blessings and admonition from Sally, she whispered to herself, “I’ve never seen a bunch of people so eager to convert me to the church as these Mormons. Even Lucy Harris wasn’t this eager about her church. I can wrap anything up as a desire to know more about Mormonism, and I shall immediately have what I want.”
But Jenny changed her mind as soon as she stepped into the print shop. The press was clanging and clattering and the building was vibrating. First she needed to find Cowdery to make her presence known.
When she stepped into the press room, she saw a strange look cross his face. Clasping the book tight, she bravely marched toward him, pushed on by her desire to learn printing. Oliver shut down the press. Giving a quick glance toward the stairs leading to Joseph’s office, he closed the door to the street, “Jenny, he doesn’t like young ladies in the print shop.”
“Even those who would like to learn a little about the business?” she pleaded. “I’d sweep the floor for you if you’d only let me look on, Oliver Cowdery.”
His inky hand tugged at his shirt collar and he tried to smile, but she was aware of his uneasiness. “Jenny, you were a good scholar back in the Manchester days, but a good scholar doesn’t necessarily make a printer, especially a female.”
“I’ve really come to see Joseph today,” she admitted.
He hesitated, glancing upward. As he turned and marched across the press room, he spoke over his shoulder. “He’s busy right this minute. This bundle of papers goes down to Whitney. If you’ll deliver them for me, so’s they can get in the afternoon mail, I’ll put you next in line to see the Prophet.”
When Jenny returned from Whitney’s store, she was licking a peppermint stick. She was nearly to the print shop when the door opened and a young woman stepped out. Glancing at Jenny with a pleasant smile, she murmured, “Good afternoon. We haven’t met, but I know you are Jenny. I’m Fannie.” She glanced down at the candy.
On impulse Jenny broke the stick and handed Fannie a piece. “Fannie Alger. Sally’s mentioned you, said you’re the Smiths’ adopted daughter.” A shadow crossed Fannie’s face as she accepted the candy and licked it.
“Oh, thank you, Jenny. It makes today a holiday!” With another pleasant smile she continued down the street, and Jenny entered the shop.
Oliver, now free of printer’s ink, was standing at the foot of the stairs. Quickly he said, “Miss Jenny, do go up.”
Jenny licked the peppermint and noted his nervousness. “I’d stay here with you if you’d let me help,” she bargained, then nearly dropped her candy as a red flush washed across Oliver’s face. Muttering, he turned and entered the press room, firmly closing the door.
Jenny was still shaking her head in bewilderment as she climbed the stairs and reached for the door. With her hand on the knob, she saw the sign on the door: Positively No Admittance. She was still hesitating when the door was snatched open. “Jenny, come in.”
“That sign,” she murmured. “I nearly left.”
“You’ve a book.” He walked to his chair and sat down. Indicating the chair across from him, he said, “I take it you’ve read it.”
She shook her head. “No. As a matter of fact, I found it boring, and I decided to come ask questions instead.”
“I told you it was too much for women to handle. Are you now willing to let the men wrestle with the doctrine and just be a good little lady like the others?”
She grinned up at him. “How do you expect me to be a good little lady when I haven’t been told how?”
“That is another challenge,” he replied softly.
In the silence of the room, she was becoming very aware of Joseph. Slumped and at ease across from her, he smiled and waited. She studied his fair hair and light blue eyes, wondering why sitting in the same room with him caused all her carefully prepared questions to flee her mind.
Not one question concerning the doctrine of his church presented itself, but other thoughts arose, the gossip. She wanted to ask him if it were true that he and Emma were having problems. What had Tom meant when he referred to the whisper of polygamy?
Jenny’s mind floundered. Under the steady eyes, she struggled and brought up the only thing she could remember. “Your mother went to the Manchester church we attended. She was saying in front of us all that when the translating of the gold plates was done, she intended to show them. Now I’m hearing rumbles because you didn’t. Why?”
Slowly Joseph sat up and leaned forward. He had discarded his jacket and loosened his tie. Watching him pick up a slender letter opener and flex the blade, she studied him. The muscles in his shoulders rippled as he played with the letter opener. For a time he bent the shiny blade back and forth. When he looked up the serenity was gone; a restlessness in his eyes caught her attention. The troubled frown darkened his face, making her forget her vision of the bright young giant.
“There’s too many of these rumbles. Sometimes I hear about them. Sometimes I don’t.” He paused to pass his hand across his face in a weary gesture. Jenny was filled with an overwhelming desire to go to him, to touch away the wearin
ess. She recoiled in horror when she realized the direction her thoughts were taking her.
As he got up and paced the room, Jenny bit her lip and clasped her hands together. One thing was certain: if just once she gave into those strange impulses, all hope of winning Joseph would be gone. She would be only a woman of the street. “Easy come, easy go,” she whispered, grateful that somehow her mother had impressed her with that message.
He turned, “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” She nearly stuttered the word. He crossed the room and sat beside her.
“Jenny—” His forced smile was twisted and miserable, his eyes troubled. “This being a prophet isn’t easy street. It’s a mighty lonely business. No matter how straight I walk the line, there’s those who gossip and pick fault. My own close followers undermine me and try to ruin me. They don’t understand. I didn’t dream up the teachings and the revelations. I’m following God. Jenny, do you see? I need a friend. I need someone who will keep me informed of the whispers. I need to know how to answer these people. Will you be that person, to stand by me and be willing to tell me my faults, to help me in this business?”
“But I thought Rigdon was supposed to be that person. In the revelations the Lord said Sidney was to be your John the Baptist. I read that far.”
Joseph shook his head. “He’s too close. I suppose he has stars in his eyes. But I sense in you a willingness to tell me the worst and demand an answer. Help me, Jenny.” For a moment he dropped his head and that bright hair was only inches from her face. She caught her breath and pushed back against the chair. When he raised his head his eyes searched her face.
“Of course, Joseph,” she whispered. “You know I would do anything to help you.”
And when she was at the door, ready to walk downstairs, she turned. There was a question in his eyes as he waited. She said, “You didn’t answer me.” She saw he didn’t remember, and prodded. “I asked why you didn’t show the plates like Lucy said you would.”
He came and bent close so she could see the torment in his eyes. Slowly he said, “Jenny, I was deceived. Do you hear me, do you understand? Ask no more.”
As she walked back to the Morgans’, her thoughts were full of Joseph; particularly she was thinking of that last statement. Who had deceived Joseph? Did this have something to do with his failure with the seer stone and his reluctance to use it now?
****
The next Sabbath Jenny came down to breakfast wearing her dark challis print. Sally’s eyes widened and Jenny nodded. “Your guess is right. I’m going to church with you today.” The questions still filled Sally’s eyes as Jenny sliced bread and carried dishes to the table.
“See, I’ve decided, just like Tom told me, that if I intend to join the church I’d better be finding out what’s being preached on the Sabbath. Also, I’ve shunned church so I scarcely know my neighbors. Do you know, I met Fannie Alger coming out of Joseph’s office the other day, and I didn’t know who she was until—” Jenny stopped and watched Andy Morgan sputtering over his breakfast. Sally was thumping him on the back. “Whatever is wrong?” Jenny asked.
“I don’t know.” Sally’s face tilted toward Jenny. “Get some water. Oh my, I hope it isn’t his heart.”
He pushed back from her restraining hands. “I’m all right, wife.” His voice still sounded strangled as he said, “You are right, Jenny. It is proper that you go to church. What were you doing at the printing office?”
“Why, Joseph gave me books to read.”
Walking to church, Jenny wondered about that strange expression on Andy’s face. But she shed her thoughts at the door, uncomfortably aware that since last August’s church meeting, she had filled every Sabbath with activity rather than face the restraint of the weekly meetings.
“Jenny Timmons—I do declare.” The voice gasped close to Jenny’s elbow, and she turned to see Lucy Smith, the Prophet’s mother.
“Oh, Mrs. Smith!” she gave the little woman a quick hug. “And Mr. Smith,” she added as she saw the tall, lanky man beside Lucy.
“It’s been so long,” Lucy continued, “since the Manchester days. I wouldn’t have known you except that Tom told me you are livin’ here now. You must come and visit.”
When the couple sat down on the bench in front of her, Jenny realized, with a pang of regret, that she had missed them. The sermon droned around her head, but Jenny’s thoughts were full of memories of the Smith home, and she quickly grew eager to take up the friendship again.
On Tuesday of the same week with directions from Sally, Jenny went to call on the Smiths.
Jenny had Lucy all to herself. With cups of the forbidden tea, the two spent the morning talking about all they remembered of Manchester.
At noon Mr. Smith returned with Oliver Cowdery in tow. Jenny was surprised at Oliver’s discomfort. Excusing herself, she went to help Lucy prepare a meal for the men.
When she carried the bowl of stew to the table, she found the men reminiscing. They were crowded together on the bench, and Mr. Smith reached for her arm, saying, “We were a-talkin’ about the things that transpired when Joe found the gold Bible. My, those were the days!”
“Fearful, wonderful days,” Lucy said comfortably as she took her place at the table. “I was just thinkin’ the other day of the findin’ of it.”
Oliver helped himself to the stew. “Willard Chase was telling me what you’d related to him, about dressing Joe up in his black suit of clothes and finding a black horse for him to ride. He also told me how when Joe got out the book of gold, he made the mistake of placing it back, and it disappeared. He explained that Joe found the book back in the box where it had been in the first place. He tried to take it out and was hindered by something in the box that looked like a toad; then, before his eyes the toad changed into the appearance of a man and struck him.” Shaking his head, Oliver paused in his story and picked up his spoon.
Mr. Smith wiped his mouth and said, “Well, I’ll tell you, those devils sure made a commotion.”
“Devils!” Jenny exclaimed. “I didn’t know about them.”
“Yessir,” he nodded. “Joe took a pillowcase to put the plates in and a bunch of devils followed him. See, they were trying to keep him from gettin’ the plates. One kicked him a good one. Joe had black and blue marks for days.”
Oliver nodded, saying, “Joe himself told me that when he first went to the Hill Cumorah, he saw the prince of darkness surrounded by his cohorts.”
****
It was late when Jenny left the Smith home, much later than she had intended. As she walked through the shadowy streets of Kirtland, she realized she was the only person out.
The evening mists were drifting through the empty streets. The soft glow of lamplight filled the windows of the small log houses, streaking the street with pale light. She quickened her steps and heard the echo rebounding from the brick of the printing office and Whitney’s store.
Now she caught the sound of footsteps ahead. With her mind full of the tales she had heard at the Smith home, she began to hurry, running to catch up with those other lonesome feet. Rounding a corner, she saw the dark-cloaked figure ahead. Jenny called, “Hello!”
Jenny saw a brief flash of red as the woman turned and the light from a supper lamp momentarily illuminated her. Jenny ran toward her, but the woman disappeared around the corner.
Chapter 25
Halfway through February, Jenny stood at the kitchen window in the Morgans’ snug log house. Behind her the sun had painted bright strips across the whitewashed walls and the tea-kettle was shooting steam into the air. But Jenny was heedless of the pleasant picture Sally’s kitchen presented; she was studying the landscape still painted in snowy outlines. A rustle behind her, followed by a coo and a gurgle announced Sally and Tamara’s presence.
“I’m trying to list the changes in the neighborhood that indicate spring’s on the way,” she explained without turning. “Just moments ago I saw a cardinal—but that doesn’t mean spring. The snow
is starting to shrink in upon itself like old Mrs. Lewis did before she died.”
Sally’s skirts rustled again and Jenny turned. “You want gruel for Tamara?” As she passed the pair she fingered the baby’s soft curls. “Oh, that’s a pretty baby today.” Tamara rewarded her with a gurgle while Sally nodded and smiled. Jenny poured the boiling water over cornmeal and stirred it as the thin mixture bubbled on the stove.
Sally sat down and tucked a bib under Tamara’s chin. “Andy tells me that Joseph’s talking hard about sending him to Missouri with the others in two weeks’ time. I hope you won’t be called to nursing. I’m so lonesome when he’s gone I nearly perish.”
Andy Morgan walked into the room in time to hear her lament. He bent over his wife and daughter and kissed them both. “I’m flattered,” he murmured; “also relieved that you prefer Jenny’s company.”
Sally tipped her head back and looked at her husband. “Andy, what can you possibly mean by that?”
“Only that you are a beautiful woman and I don’t want to share you.”
Sally’s voice was dry as she answered, “I’m also married.” The silence in the room was broken only by Tamara’s contented sounds and the clink of the spoon against the dish. Sally lifted her head again and watched her husband struggling with the buttons on his collar. “You are a very dignified attorney, and I am proud of you.”
“I only wish there were a few more dignified attorneys in town; then I’d spend some time at home.” His voice was grim, and Jenny turned from her spot at the window to study his face. He saw her and smiled, but she still noticed the tired lines on his face.
As Jenny checked the biscuits in the oven and turned the bacon in the skillet, she pondered the troubled air that had followed Andy into the room.
Breakfast ended and the outer door had closed behind Andy. Jenny, her hands moving among the dishes, gently asked, “Why is Andy going to Missouri, and why is he so disturbed?” When there was no answer, she turned to look at Sally. The blonde head was bent close to Tamara’s as she wiped at the baby’s face, but Jenny could see she was chewing her lip. Jenny waited until Sally lifted her head.
