by Marian Wells
Breathlessly, Warren popped back into the room. “Oh my, sorry to keep you waiting. I’m glad to see you in such good humor. Dark rooms aren’t to my liking.”
“You are a brave man to leave me with so much money. But maybe not. There’s not too much I could carry, since it’s all in fifty-cent pieces.”
Back in the brightly lighted room, Jenny looked up at the worried, gray face and said, “I suppose for now, I’ll just leave the money.”
On her way home, she alternately chuckled and shook her head, then abruptly faced the implications of her discovery.
By the time Jenny had prepared Mark’s dinner and set her table with the best china, she had decided that as soon as the meal was finished she would share her discoveries with him.
Dinner was a silent affair. Jenny was still busy planning her speech. Just when she thought of a way to broach the subject, she became aware of Mark’s preoccupation. Studying his face and his unfinished dinner, she asked, “Mark, don’t you feel well?”
He stared at her for a moment. “Oh, my dear, I’ve neglected you. Sorry. I’ve been miles away with business problems.” He reached out to touch her cheek. “No need to trouble you with them. I do wish I needn’t go out again this evening.”
“Oh, Mark,” she said in dismay, then saw his distress. “I’m sorry. But I’ll miss you terribly. It is so cold and I was hoping—”
“I know.” He rose to kiss her and reached for his coat. “Don’t wait up for me. I must see Brewster about his will. I’ve promised for weeks, and now I’ll need to track him down.”
Outside, Mark hesitated beside the barn and then muttered, “I’ll be warmer with the walk, and the mare won’t have to wait in the cold.” He set off down the street, striding rapidly as he headed for the Brewster home.
He was breathing the sweet, winter air, spiced only lightly with the scent of burning wood, thinking what a relief it would be if the fresh exchange of air in his lungs could cleanse his troubled thoughts. He sighed heavily, thinking of Jenny, wishing he could press his head against her softness and unburden all the turmoil he was feeling.
Mark had spent the day arguing with Joseph and trying to juggle impossible figures. Even after facing the hard reality of facts, the Prophet’s avowal of faith and confidence had left Mark feeling as if he were battering against an impregnable wall.
As he hurried through the snow to meet Brewster, Mark lashed himself for failure to exercise his newfound faith, at least to the degree of believing in the Prophet. He was also trying to push aside the gossip he had heard and the doubts that assailed him.
Suddenly he threw his shoulders back and breathed deeply of the fresh air. “In new, out old,” he called out toward the moon. His usual good humor made him shrug off the binding thoughts, and he found himself free to contemplate his lot. Joseph had gotten himself another church member, and he had his wife. Mark chuckled with delight, seeing himself as the winner after all. For just a moment he shook his head in disbelief over Joseph’s suggestion that he would win favor with both man and God were he to invest all of his worldly goods in the betterment of the church.
He was still shaking his head when he reached the small log house where the Brewsters lived. Perhaps old man Brewster had been approached with the same suggestion, and that had promoted the idea of a will.
Mark had barely freed himself of snow and settled beside the fire when a tap was heard at the Brewster door. He recognized the bent, white-haired man coming in the door as the Prophet’s father, Joseph Smith, Senior.
When the old man settled himself beside the fire and rubbed his hands, he said, “On a night like this a good nip would help.” He twisted his rheumatic body to face the elder Brewster. “But I didn’t come to be sociable. There’s a task before us.” His voice dropped to a low rumble as he pointed his finger at Brewster’s son, James. “I’ve told you before, there’s money hid in the earth and it’s our duty to obtain it.” His voice was slow and shaky as he added, “My friend, to fail to do so will cause the curse of God to fall upon us.”
Mark saw the look of distaste cross the elder Brewster’s face. In a playful manner Mark said, “Brother Smith, money digging is an old, old scheme of the wicked one to get us to dissipate our energies in running after a dream.”
Unexpectedly Smith turned on him and shook his finger. “Now, young man, don’t you be disputin’ your elders. I know more about money diggin’ than any man in this generation, seein’ I’ve been in the business for more than thirty years.”
Mark had only a moment for surprise before the man turned to James, saying, “Must I remind you again of your patriarchal blessing? You know the Lord promised power for you to discover and obtain treasures hidden in the earth.”
Facing Mark again, he went on, “I know how you fancy young’uns don’t hold with usin’ the rod and such, but I know the Lord approves. Why, we’ve even taken the rods and the seein’ stones into the temple, anointed them with consecrated oil and prayed over them so that the devil wouldn’t be deceivin’ the menfolk as they sought the treasures.”
“Have they found any?” Mark asked curiously.
With a snort of disgust, the elder Brewster answered, “Nope, no treasure found yet.”
Smith got to his feet. “Now come along, James. The rest of the fellows are waitin’ at the temple. Beaman and I will stay there and pray while you youngsters get out there and do your lookin’.” He paused to glare at old Mr. Brewster. “The Lord rebuke you for your unbelief. You best stay home, lest that unbelief taint the others.”
For a moment he fastened Mark with an eagle eye, then turned toward the door without another word.
Mark was whistling as he started for home. For once he had found reason to be glad his faith was very feeble. But as he looked beyond the evening with Jenny, he sobered. Tomorrow, juggling the church’s figures would take more faith than even old Joseph Smith possessed.
The following evening when he returned home, Mark found Jenny sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by newspapers.
She lowered the paper she held and explained before he could ask. “We haven’t been getting the papers, so I borrowed them from Sally. Mark, do you realize I’ve scarcely been aware of what has been going on for months now?”
“And why is that, my dear wife?” He came to nuzzle her neck. “I know, it is because you have been busy keeping house and cooking for me.”
“I suspect my husband thinks he is protecting me from uncomfortable news.” Jenny’s gaze was very serious now. Yesterday’s humor over Joseph’s money boxes had disappeared and dismay had taken its place. “Since I assume you haven’t read the papers either, let me read to you.”
He interrupted. “I have read them. I could nearly quote them. Jenny, don’t be angry. I know how much you believe in Joseph and his new church, and I couldn’t bear to have you hurt. You also know how little I believe. You know why I joined the church.” Lightly he added, “I would have walked the nearest gangplank in order to have you. Let’s not pretend I believe in religion.”
And Jenny looked up at him, sensing the love that was visible more often than spoken. Searching his face, seeing things that had escaped her attention before, she was filled with dismay. Those tired lines on his face—was she beginning to see the consequences of following her flighty heart? Where would it lead her next?
Lifting the paper she stated solemnly, “Well, I don’t know the words by heart, and right now I need very much to know what is taking place out there. Please, dear husband,” she begged, “don’t keep these things from me.”
Mark sat quietly beside the fire until she had finished and folded the last paper. “Is there a suggestion that the Prophet isn’t entirely honest?” Jenny asked. “Yesterday’s Painesville Republican sounds cynical. The advice to circulate the specie in order to benefit the community seems sound, however.”
“Wife, do I get my dinner now?” Jenny jumped to her feet, but as she folded the papers and hurried to rescue her meal, she
tried to hide the irritation she felt. At times Mark seemed to view her as only a child.
Still feeling that irritation days later, she stood at her window one evening and watched the snow fall. It was late and Mark should have been home. She looked down at the newspaper she clutched and read again the words that made her think of a house of cards, stacked and swaying until the last placed card sent them all tumbling. Which word was that final card?
The newspaper was old. It was now February and she knew the events that were rocking the town. This paper, the Painesville Telegraph, informed her that the Prophet had closed up shop. His bank wouldn’t redeem another dollar except for land. Jenny tried to feel sorry for Joseph; an amused grin twisted her lips. Like a cat, he would land on his feet and once again triumph.
Joseph was plainly running just one step ahead of them all. He had closed the bank just as the newspaper stories nudged loose a stream of people, running with their bills, suddenly frantic for their money. She also knew that by the first of February the bank notes had been worth only twelve and a half cents on the dollar. Mark had told her that Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon had both resigned their positions in the bank.
As Jenny continued to stand at the window and watch the snow, her thoughts were not of the stories in the paper, or even of the loss of her money. She was thinking of Mark’s tired, worn face, wondering why he must suffer so deeply over affairs that were not really his concern. She frowned over the contrasting pictures her mind cast: Mark, serious and plodding; Joseph, laughing, running through life a step ahead of everyone else.
In the quiet of the house, Jenny heard the fire pop and the clock chime. A timber creaked and Jenny’s heart began to thump slowly and heavily. With that sense she had lately refused to exercise, she was being made aware of the hidden movements in the room. Was it possible that just thinking forbidden thoughts had unleashed the spirit forces?
In her acquiescence to life, was she gaining power that had been denied her before? Her eyes were busily searching the room; she felt herself pushed and twisted by thoughts of Joseph. Were they trying to get her away from home, from Mark? Momentarily, her mind fastened on the warning given by Adela: Anything except Mark.
Jenny frowned, and her restless eyes probed the dark corners, searching out reasons for the nameless sounds in the room. Now her thoughts flew to the green book safely hidden in the attic. “Do I no longer control me?” she whispered.
She closed her eyes and immediately saw her fingers turning the pages of the book, underlining those words, tracing those pictures. Now she knew, without a doubt, there was a presence in the room. Not daring to open her eyes, she waited breathlessly for the manifestation.
Her body seemed to lighten, barely aware of substance under and around her. There was a touch against her face, fingers lifting her chin. She tried to move and was powerless; behind her closed lids she saw Joseph’s laughing face, felt his hands.
“No!” The scream came from her own lips, and suddenly she was across the room, staring at the spot beside the windows. Empty now, moments before it had been filled with moving, surging spirit life.
Now her voice was low and guttural. “No, never!” Even as she saw Adela’s face, her mind was filled with white lace and yellow roses. On that day Mark and their special vows had been carved forever into her heart. But now, even as she stood trembling at her own fireside, she sensed there was a battle going on again, one that had begun in her mind years ago on a wooded trail near South Bainbridge. Her marriage to Mark had caused the conflict to recede to the background, but it was far from over. She thought of the talisman Joseph once again possessed, and her heart sank.
Jenny clasped her hands, lifting her face ceilingward. She prayed like they did in church: “Kind heavenly Father, I beseech You—”
She stopped. Adela’s words rolled through her mind. Jenny saw the woman, heard again her musical voice: “There is only one god, and many different ways to worship him.”
Slowly Jenny settled in the rocking chair and compared all the pictures of God that were in her mind. In her quest for power through Adela’s teaching, the resulting picture of God was frightening. Joseph’s image of God was diffused, unclear. Only one clear impression captured her mind, created the moment she and Mark had stood before that pastor and pledged those vows.
She closed her eyes. She recalled a sense of presence on that day, commanding and strong. But there was another element to it, and she didn’t know how to define it, except to admit it left her feeling an emptiness in her life. It reminded her of the church, bathed in violet light from afternoon sunbeams through the windows; of Lucy Harris’s attempts to help her understand God; of Mark’s mother’s insistent questions about her own faith.
Jenny sighed over the picture. Then she heard Mark’s step at the kitchen door and flew to welcome him. As he held her quietly in his arms, Jenny didn’t see the lost expression on his face.
Chapter 3
Later that spring Jenny faced Mark across the kitchen table. “No!” she exclaimed, then fell silent, caught by the defeat on his face. How long had she been seeing those sad, tired eyes? And how often had she turned away, feeling only her own helplessness and defeat? Now she wanted badly to go to him, but more than the table lay between them.
Unable to endure his expression, she looked out the window at the newness of May. As the snow had melted and the flowers bloomed, their marriage had seemed to frost and wither. She watched the wild roses pressing across the picket fence and wished she had forced Mark earlier to share the burdens that had been weighing him down.
Now it was obviously too late. When she turned he was shaking his head. “I’m just as caught as you are, Jenny. How can I prove my loyalty to Joseph by less than obedience? Besides, I won’t be gone forever. And right now maybe we need a time apart.” He paused, and she saw the painful twist to his lips.
“It has been bad, hasn’t it, Mark? How miserably I’ve failed you!” She watched him turn away and nearly ran to him. But she had asked him to marry, and Mark was too much of a gentleman to ignore all that had come before that proposal. Jenny, the kitchenmaid, proposing to Attorney Cartwright! Now her bitter smile mirrored his. How blind she had been!
But she must pretend. She turned from the window with a bright smile and a bustle of energy. “So Joseph Smith has tapped my husband with his reward, the opportunity to go to merry old England to convert the land to Mormonism.”
“And the irony is in your voice, not mine.” Mark came around the table to face her.
She forced herself to look at him, to search those weary lines. “It has been bad. All these problems heaped on the church simply because of that foolish banking idea.” He ignored the hand she stretched toward him, but she continued. “Knowing you, I can guess how you cautioned against the venture in the first place. No doubt it’s been difficult charging Joseph with operating the bank illegally when he knew by law it should have been shut down months ago. But you see, Mark, Joseph fails to see himself bound by the laws of this land, and—”
Mark interrupted, “The only thing that has kept him from looking like a complete scoundrel has been all the other banks tumbling down.” He looked away for a moment.
“Despite the rightness of the court’s decision, it was very unfortunate Joseph had to lose his suit for operating the bank illegally. Some poor Saint’s thousand dollars paid his fine,” Mark added bitterly, and Jenny searched his face, wondering if he had guessed it was likely her money—their money.
Desperately she sought for something to say. “I’m surprised that Joseph chose you to go now. With all these suits pending against him, I’d think he would need you here more than ever.”
“Let’s say I spoke my feelings one time too many. He’s testing my loyalty. I must obey or I’ll lose everything I’ve worked so desperately to gain.” Jenny turned quickly, hoping to see some sign that Mark’s words referred to her. But he was fumbling through the papers in his cubbyhole of a desk in the corner of the kitc
hen.
Jenny’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “When must you leave?”
“There’s a bunch going in June. He wants us to encourage converts to come with their money and settle among us.” When he paused, Jenny reviewed his words, searching for scorn, but there was none. Again she felt his heavy spirit and regretted the past months of emotional strain.
Now Mark was quoting Joseph. “He promised that this place will be built up and that every brother who helps discharge these contracts will be rich.”
Since their marriage, Jenny had never inquired into Mark’s financial affairs. Timidly she asked, “Did you—”
With an amused smile he said, “Fortunately, even were I so inclined, I couldn’t. My father’s estate is completely in the hands of trustees as long as my mother lives.” Jenny couldn’t hide her small expression of relief.
With a grin, backed by an expression so dark she couldn’t understand it, Mark added, “Just the other day, Heber C. Kimball stated that he thinks there’s not twenty people on earth right now who believe Joseph is truly a prophet of God. But cheer up, my dear, things will smooth out, and you will all get your faith back.”
Trying to read the expression in his eyes, Jenny wondered whether Mark blamed Joseph’s church for the widening gulf between the two of them. Her heart was heavy with the sense of failure. In the beginning, only love was necessary, she had thought. Now she knew that as deeply as she had learned to love Mark, she still sensed a barrier. One look into his hurt eyes convinced Jenny that Mark was as much aware of the lack as she. Jenny turned away with a sigh.
****
June came, and Mark and the other chosen ones departed on the first missionary assignment to a foreign land. Jenny was left wondering how one as bitter and disheartened as Mark could hope to baptize converts for Zion.
