by Marian Wells
The Starlight Trilogy, Book Two
Star Light, Star Bright
Marian Wells
© 1986 by Marian Wells
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publicaion may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—with the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-6249-3
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Cover by Dan Thornberg.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
About the Author
Other Books by Author
Back Cover
Introduction
In the first book of this trilogy, The Wishing Star, Jenny Timmons, “nearly twelve—come January,” is living in South Bainbridge, New York. Her family is poor, and except for the green book, life holds little excitement or interest.
Then Jenny’s best friend, her brother Tom, introduces Jenny to his new friend, Joe Smith, a fascinating youth whose ideas about life seem to parallel the discoveries she has made through reading the forbidden green book. Intrigued by the mystery surrounding Joe and Tom, Jenny is determined to insert herself in the middle of their fascinating enterprises. While Jenny struggles with her world, Joseph Smith provides South Bainbridge with a new touch of excitement. Even from those early years, people either loved or hated Joseph.
Within the year, Jenny’s father gives in to his yearning to go west. The family moves to Manchester, New York, the first leg of the westward trek.
That year, Tom becomes a stable-hand, working for a man named Martin Harris. After one happy year, Pa’s feet begin to itch again, and in the process of packing the wagon to move, Pa finds Jenny reading his forbidden book. When the wagon leaves, Tom and Jenny remain behind, both working for Martin Harris—Tom in the stables and Jenny as the hired girl. And Pa’s green book stays behind as well—stolen by Jenny and hidden away for safekeeping.
Manchester is a small town, nestled close to Palmyra, New York. At school, and at the Presbyterian church on Sunday, Jenny becomes acquainted with the Smith youngsters and their parents. She develops a fondness for Lucy Smith. Once again the threads of life stretch between Jenny and Joseph Smith.
But one of those threads has been snapped. When Jenny had first met Joseph Smith, she had vowed to marry him. Now her girlish dreams of romance are terminated when Joseph Smith takes Emma Hale as his wife.
For a short period of time, Joseph and Emma live in Palmyra, New York. During this time, Martin Harris becomes involved with Joseph, and the rumors grow. Talk of the Gold Bible Company and other mysterious events surround the lives of the Smith family.
Jenny’s life in Manchester becomes filled with excitement and trauma. Martin Harris’ strange beliefs and uncontrolled anger rise to a climax. When he sells his farm in order to finance the printing of the gold bible, his wife Lucy resists him, and he responds in rage, beating both her and Jenny.
Thus Jenny and Tom Timmons find themselves without employment.
Befriended by Mark Cartwright, a young man Jenny and Tom first met in South Bainbridge, New York, at the time of Joseph’s first trial, the brother and sister go to eastern New York State. But soon Tom’s restless feet lead him after his friend, Joseph Smith.
Jenny stays behind as a hired girl, and finds security and the promise of power in the forbidden green book she took from Pa.
Her fascination and curiosity with the book send her delving into the occult. Jenny still believes herself in control of her life, but desires born back in South Bainbridge days begin manifesting themselves in strange ways.
As Jenny matures, the choices she makes include a search for secret power, leading her to Kirtland, Ohio, to a prophet, her old friend, Joseph Smith.
Jenny becomes a follower of this new church. In time she learns that Joseph’s control over his people extends even into their personal lives. Joseph instructs her to ask Mark Cartwright to marry her. And she obeys.
Chapter 1
The buggy was finally moving along rapidly. Since Mark and Jenny had left Kirtland early in the morning, every buggy and wagon in the Cleveland area seemed to conspire to bog them in traffic forever. Each mile that brought them closer to Cleveland had added more vehicles to the road.
Now they both breathed a sigh of relief as their path turned away from the wharf and meandered down country lanes. Overhead trees sheltered their way with shade. With the absence of shouting men, clanging bells and snorting horses, they began to relax. Bawling peddlers and angry wagoneers behind them, Mark sighed with relief and settled back to allow the horses to pick their own pace.
Now Jenny felt his warm glances, and saw the pleased grin. But the high tide of emotion she was feeling kept her silent. It had been early dawn when they self-consciously faced each other. There had been a moment of panic as Mark helped her into the buggy; just knowing this was the day made Jenny pause, fighting the impulse to run and hide. How badly she wanted once again to hear Mark’s assurance that his mother would really be pleased that they were marrying! Still trying to hide the tumble of strange new emotions, Jenny was only shy, while Mark was proud, rightfully possessive.
Through the silence Jenny was doubly aware of the rhythm of the horses’ hooves clicking against the hard-packed earth; it was the only sound on this quiet road. At the start of the day, Jenny had been full of chatter and laughter. She guessed Mark knew that her mood was designed to hide her real thoughts. Not all of those thoughts were to be shared, though, and eventually they had lapsed into the present silence.
Jenny studied Mark out of the corner of her eye. The sun picked out copper glints in his hair and illuminated the broad shoulders of the well-tailored suit. A gentleman. Jenny looked down at her dress, one she had made herself. Kitchenmaid. She winced painfully, suddenly wondering if she shouldn’t be back where she belonged. Surely that was anywhere but here!
Abruptly, scenes from the South Bainbridge days filled her thoughts: the shabby shack, Pa and Ma, all the young’uns, and not enough milk to go around. She thought of Jenny and Nancy, of their faded dresses lined against Prue’s daffodil yellow. And she remembered Joe Smith, the diggings, and the green book of Pa’s. How could she have dared involve Mark Cartwright in all this?
She chewed at her lip, trying desperately, even now, to find an excuse to run away from it all. But even as she thought that perhaps Mrs. Cartwright would take one look and send her packing, Jenny realized how badly she wanted to marry this man.
S
he was taking a deep, shaky breath when Mark reached for her hand and gave it a gentle tug. “I’m glad I don’t have to meet your mother today. She’d probably say I’m not good enough for her daughter.”
“Oh, Mark!” Was he guessing how she felt? Suddenly she could face him, and the expression in his eyes was reassuring.
He teased, “There’s not another person on this road; please prove you are real, not a pretty dream to vanish when I blink my eyes.”
“Mark, you are silly, not the least like a dignified attorney at all.”
“It’s taken this long for you to discover the fact?” Now she saw his eyes were serious, but he was still tugging at her hand. “Since we left Kirtland this morning, you’ve been as wide-eyed as little Jenny with her nose pressed to the window of the candy shop.”
Jenny winced. How it hurt to be reminded of those South Bainbridge days. Looking up at him she said slowly, “Mark, I am. I’m even fearful. What am I doing to you?”
“What will your mother think of me?” It was a whisper.
“You’ll find that out in less than an hour.” His voice was confident, “I don’t think she’ll be disappointed.” Mark studied her for another moment before he turned to point the whip to the north. “You’d never guess, but just beyond that line of trees is the biggest body of water you’ve ever seen.”
But Jenny would not be distracted. Her voice was brooding as she said, “There are disadvantages to marrying a man who has known you since you were a little tyke. Mark, you needn’t remind me there will be no surprises in our marriage. You know me too well.”
For a moment his face was still, and then she saw a hint of shadow in his eyes. “I only wish I did. Jenny, I sense I’ll never be certain of knowing you completely. Life will always be full of surprises with you, I’m guessing. I hope I prove nimble enough to keep up with you.” He was teasing again, and his smile was warm. With a quick grin his mood changed, “Little owl eyes, look yonder—that is the beginning of the Cartwright acres.”
“All of this?” Jenny turned wondering eyes back to Mark. He saw again that expression, the little-kitchenmaid one.
“Jenny, don’t forget, you are now a part of the Cartwright family—at least you will be just as soon as we can get that preacher to come listen to us promise to love and honor each other for the rest of our lives.”
He brushed his lips across her cheek, and she blinked tears out of her eyes as she smiled up at him. “Mark, I will love belonging to you, but not because your family has more acres than I’ve ever ridden across.” Her voice was wistful as she touched his face. “It’s all like a dream. And I didn’t really think I’d ever be in the middle of the dream.”
Later, Mark’s mother held her face and kissed her. When she felt Mrs. Cartwright’s tears, Jenny, with a shock, saw herself unworthy and guilty; and the emotion had nothing to do with Mark’s wealth.
With his mother’s words, in one bewildered moment, Jenny discovered herself to be sailing under a false banner. Strange, she thought as the woman talked, never before have I seen myself in just this light. With difficulty she forced herself to smile as Mrs. Cartwright held her away to study her face. Would she guess her averted eyes were more than shyness?
The woman continued, “Jenny, you’ll never know how I’ve prayed for this day.” The fragile white-haired woman whispered, “My son is twenty-seven years old, and I had begun to think I wouldn’t live to know his wife and children.”
Later, over tea in the parlor, Jenny tried to act calm and relaxed. Mark and his mother, pointing to an alcove lined with windows, talked about candles and flowers and music, while Jenny’s thoughts churned on. Mrs. Cartwright had prayed for a wife for Mark. She, Jenny, was that answer.
He had called her, with a bit of awe in his voice, a fine Christian lady. Right now Jenny was having difficulty swallowing the tea; her thoughts were on the green book of magic, the charms, the talisman she wore hidden in the folds of her dress. She nearly choked on the tea as she visualized the horror on Mrs. Cartwright’s face were she to hear Clara advising Jenny to build the waxen figure of Emma Smith and insert the pins.
Mark and his mother returned to the tea table. Sentiment was forgotten now as Mrs. Cartwright, her eyes bright with curiosity, surveyed Jenny over the top of her teacup and asked, “Your parents?”
Jenny was shaking her head and explaining. For a moment she was caught by the picture of her mother in these surroundings. The mental image left her with an aching heart.
But Mrs. Cartwright was moving on. “Tell me about your home. Do you have brothers and sisters? I assume you attended church.” While Jenny struggled over the necessary answers, Mrs. Cartwright continued talking, her brow furrowed as if her own problem of explanation was too great. “When Mark was tiny, I gave him to God. See, Jenny, I had a dream of having my son measure up to the best that God expected of him.”
Something in her eyes sought confirmation; Jenny was left wondering how she could hope to be that best. Looking into the candid eyes of Mrs. Cartwright, she desperately wanted to reassure her. Jenny searched for words, but the only words she could find were the ones she had already decided mustn’t be said around Mark: power, talisman, charms, grimoire.
The contrast startled Jenny. She looked at Mark, suddenly realizing the width of the gulf between them. Was she sentencing herself to a lifetime of constantly guarding her tongue? As she studied the face that had become dear and familiar, Adela’s words echoed through her: Anything except Mark. Jenny’s fingers tightened around the handle of the teacup and then relaxed. Remember, Jenny, she advised herself, you’ve chosen Joseph’s way, not Adela’s.
Mrs. Cartwright was still talking about God, and with amusement Jenny decided she was trying to cover life with one cozy blanket. Jenny needn’t tell her that she didn’t like the blanket, and besides, she had discovered long ago that the blanket of faith had holes in it.
Jenny settled herself to listen to the story. Mark’s grandfather and even his great-grandfather were Methodist preachers. “We’ve always been a Bible-believing and practicing people. I want to see it carried down into your generation.” She gave a gentle shiver. “There’s so much abroad today that is anti-God. It seems as if in these past ten years people have turned restless, searching for something more than old-time religion. I pray that the spirit of revival will sweep this nation. There is the potential; we’re seeing a new breed of men coming into the pulpit.”
Abruptly Mark took notice. “Is that so? To whom are you referring?”
She was nodding with enthusiasm as she replied. “I was specifically referring to young Charles Finney. He’s advocating a deeper life, deriding the trend toward religion that’s all show. He’s asking for a heart-changing experience with God. If it will happen, this nation can be changed in every area, from the social to the governmental.” She stopped abruptly and Jenny saw the touch of sadness in her eyes as she watched her son stir impatiently.
Before Jenny could leave the room, she had to ask, “You believe God changes hearts? How people think and feel, and even act?” Mrs. Cartwright nodded, but Jenny could ask no more.
The next day Jenny stood at her bedroom window and decided that the Cartwright home was mellow like Mrs. Barton’s fruitcake: perfect, opulent. Her troubled eyes swept over the scene, and she remembered her own corn bread beginnings.
Thinking back to yesterday, she breathed a sigh of relief. She might have been forced to give detailed explanations, but Mrs. Cartwright had kindly accepted her fumbling answers without further questions.
The Cartwright home was quiet and green, away from the noisy waterfront and the bustle of town. The estate, from the stately old oak trees to the stone-and-timber home, looked settled and peaceful, as if it had always been part of the landscape.
With a sigh Jenny shook her head and moved away from the window. She still wondered why a man like Mark noticed her, why he had allowed himself to be talked into marrying her.
Briefly she touched the talism
an pinned securely into the waistband of her dress. Could that metal be responsible, or was Mark simply too much of a gentleman to say no? She was still pondering her dark thoughts when she heard a tap at the door.
Mrs. Cartwright came into the room followed by a wide-eyed young girl carrying a dress in its dust cover. Jenny found herself studying the awkward, poorly dressed girl, seeing the awe on her face and the expression of defeat. For a moment Jenny pressed her fingers to her eyes. It was like looking at the young Jenny, and the picture was painful.
“Jenny,” Mrs. Cartwright said softly, “I know you’ve had little opportunity to shop for a wedding gown. When I wore this dress I dreamed of the daughter I would have and who would someday wear it. Mark’s baby sister died before her first birthday. I don’t insist that you wear the dress, but if you would like to wear it, it is yours. If you were to wear it, I would be completely happy on your wedding day.” Touching her fingertips to her eyes, she turned and left the room.
Completely? The hard, sore spot around Jenny’s heart softened.
The following Sunday Jenny again stood at her bedroom window, marveling at the scene before her. How could this great assembly of people and those tremendous quantities of food have been summoned within a week’s time?
Walking gracefully down the curving staircase, wearing Mrs. Cartwright’s lace gown, squeezing the cascading bouquet of yellow roses against her pounding heart, Jenny paused on the stairs. The hallway below was a sea of strange but friendly faces tipped upward, smiling and nodding. They clustered after her as she went into the parlor where Mark waited to take her hand.
She faced the solemn, graying man with piercing eyes who would seal her fate with Mark’s. For a moment she trembled. Mark’s hand, steady and warm, linked her with life and response and reality.
The minister declared, “It is before this group as witness, in the presence of the great eternal God, that we meet together to join this man and woman together in holy matrimony. Marriage, holy, ordained by God, is to be maintained as a sacred trust between these two people.”
