by Marian Wells
Jenny spent a restless night tossing in the bed which suddenly seemed too big and very cold. Her dreams were filled with dark shadows and Jenny running, searching the sky as she ran, looking for the first star of the evening, the wishing star. And in her half-waking state, she was murmuring, “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight—”
She sat up. “I should be praying for power instead of chanting childish wishes.” Silently she searched her heart, wondering if she were failing the Prophet. Her guilty conscience informed her that she was. As she sighed and settled back in bed, she couldn’t help wondering how much her sins were dragging down the cause of Zion.
When morning came, she threw back the shutters. As the giant clock again pounded out the hours with an intensity that reverberated from the walls of the tiny cabin, Jenny greeted the dawn eagerly. She studied the line of coral rimming the sky beyond the trees which marked the distant bluffs of the river and wondered how many of these lonely nights she could endure without going mad. She shivered.
Quickly now she flew about, stirring up the fire, boiling water, and stirring in a meager handful of meal. By the time Jenny had finished her breakfast, she knew she must find the green book and the talisman.
With a sense of finality, she knew she must go through the cabin searching out each valued item. Had Mark not left behind another rifle and ammunition? What about his Bible? She could tie the extra shawl behind the saddle. It would cover the green book, and if she were to see Mark in Adam-ondi-Ahman, then there would be no need to explain her strange trip.
Late in the morning, Jenny was nearly ready to leave. She wrapped the book in the shawl and was ready to pin the talisman in her frock when the pin-prick of alarm touched her. At that moment the clock gonged out the hours. Ten. In the silence, with only gentle seconds ticking off, her world pressed in. The scenes of yesterday’s fire and those stricken faces held her for a moment, and then the heightened sense of need sent her flying to the door.
Jenny guessed what she would find before she reached the spot where she had left the mare tethered. As she stared at the bare pasture, her heart sank. She was totally alone.
There was a broken branch. Jenny fingered it. In dismay she declared, “Since when have you forgotten horses aren’t above breaking a dry limb when they’re looking for something to eat?” She kicked at the grass chewed down to stubble, and turned to trail the mare.
The sun was directly overhead when Jenny gave up in frustration. “A thief. Right now I wish I could take a gun to that fella!” she cried, smacking one palm with the other as she kicked at a crumbling log. The words she muttered under her breath would have more nearly suited Lyman Wight than the wife of Mark Cartwright; and despite her fear and dismay, she was instantly seized with shame.
For reasons she couldn’t guess, she leaned against a tree and allowed bitter tears to flow. As she cried, John Lee’s face flashed across her thoughts. She was seeing the sadness in his eyes as he looked at the charred ruins of the McBriers’ house and said, “It seems religion’s not got the power to subdue the animal passion in a man.”
She shoved her head against the tree, pounded her fist against the rough bark and said, “And the passion’s taken my horse.” But a quiet finger underlined the soul-deep anger she was feeling toward that nameless man, and at the same moment she murmured, “Why, Jenny, that makes you no better’n the bunch that burned out the McBriers.”
Again the tears began. For a long time, Jenny leaned against the tree and cried without understanding the reason behind her tears.
Finally Jenny slumped down to rest against the tree. The sun had burned out the last of the night’s chill and she rested in the warm spot. When the last of her sobs ended, she heard a gentle nicker nearby.
Raising her head, she listened for a moment, then with a glad cry she jumped to her feet and crashed through the bushes to throw her arms around the mare. Rubbing the horse’s neck as she wrapped reins securely around her hand, Jenny looked around, trying to get her bearings. “Old girl, you’ve wandered a far piece from home. I’m thinking we’ll have a time getting back there.”
****
At midmorning Mark took the cutoff outside Adam-ondi-Ahman and headed up the road to his home. He was riding fast, as hard as he dared push his horse, but despite his anxiety, he was seeing things that sent disturbing signals to him.
There was an air of neglect and desolation around the cabins he had been passing. The smell of charred wood and the acrid scorch of burning grass lingered in the air. More frequently now he was passing bands of people heading south and east. Several times he met a wagon, but most often he was seeing women and children walking. He discovered that as he approached, the groups turned and scattered into the bushes. After one attempt to search them out and ask questions, he gave up and pressed harder for home.
When Mark turned down his own lane, he slowed his horse to a walk. The pricked ears of his mare had already alerted him to the presence of another horse. He eyed the gelding as he circled the cabin and stopped at the door.
A sound caught his attention, and before Mark could move, the man, still in the shadows, called, “Well, Mark, I’ll ask you into your own house.” Joseph Smith stepped through the doorway.
Mark’s tumbling emotions held him motionless. When he got off the horse, he took time to pull the saddle from the mare and lead her to grass. Inside the cabin he faced Joseph Smith and tersely asked, “Where’s Jenny?”
“I have no way of knowing, Mark. And what gives you the idea that I came here to see your wife?”
For a moment Mark studied the expression of complete candor and his resisting the impulse to squirm like a youngster caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Deliberately he held Joseph’s gaze with his own and said, “Let’s not play games, or I’ll be tempted to do some prophesying on my own.”
Joseph’s eyes began to twinkle. “You’re taking liberties.”
“I was ready to say the same about you. There’s just too much talk going around about you and some of the womenfolk. First it was Fannie Alger, then Nancy Johnson. Now they’re talking about Lucinda Harris. I don’t want it to be my wife next.”
Joseph chuckled. “Look, Mark, you’re a nice-looking fella, don’t tell me the girls haven’t cast eyes at you.”
“Cut it out, Joe, this isn’t about innocent flirtations and hero worship. If it is all foolish gossip, why do you feel called upon to denounce the rumors? A prophet ought to be above having to answer these kind of questions.”
Now Mark noticed the walnut clock. Jerking his head toward it, he asked, “Where did that come from?”
“If you can’t answer that question, then ask your wife.”
“No doubt someone’s stashed it here with the intention of returning. Joseph, it’s all for naught.”
“What do you mean?”
“Any sympathy you might have gained in a search for religious freedom has been swept away by total anarchy. You might justify it to your men, but that attitude won’t prevail with either Governor Boggs or Washington.”
“Are you prophesying again?”
“I’m warning,” Mark growled. “These are the things I’ve been waiting to say all week. Are you taking into consideration the before-Joseph and after-Joseph climate of the state of Missouri? Since I talked to you last, I’ve had numerous Jacksonites come to me and beg me to get you to back down. They’re not mincing words when they say you’ll bring down the government on all our heads.”
“You forget, Mark, I am above the law. You’ve seen the revelations. You’ve heard the promises. God has ordained that we possess the land either by purchase or by sword. That is a command. It is only through complete obedience to God through his Prophet in these last days that we can expect to see the promises fulfilled.
“If you or any of the others fail to obey the least of the commands, you’ll bring disaster upon the people. I warned you of this before. Mark, don’t blame me if this group of people fails to occupy the lan
d. Blame those who are too weak and feeble to stand upon His Word in these latter days.”
Joseph took a deep breath and paced the room. As he circled the clock again, he shot a glance at Mark and said, “Mark, I need your help and your loyalty, but right now you are close to apostasy. You’ve heard the counsel against the dissenters.”
Mark watched Joseph’s lips tighten as he continued, “Since the very day you entered Missouri, you’ve been fighting against the presidency.”
“What do you mean?” Mark asked, already guessing.
“You’ve been a troublemaker. You shielded the dissenters, siding with the Whitmers, Cowdery, and Johnson.”
Mark didn’t bother answering, but he was fully aware of the position Joseph was forcing upon him as he spoke again. “Do you realize I could have shot you when you walked up to the door? And I would have been justified, because you left Caldwell County without permission. I am willing to forget the ugly accusations you’ve made against me in the past and today, but in return I’ll expect more of you.”
“Or,” Mark said with a tight smile, “it will be like Avard says. I’ll be in the bushes with a knife in my guts.”
Softly Joseph replied, “You said it, Mark, I didn’t.”
And then after a moment of quiet reflection, Mark raised his head with a start. “Joseph, Far West is rumbling with all kinds of trouble right now. And in the midst of it, the men are milling around like lost sheep saying ‘where’s Joseph?’” He moved about the room restlessly. “I think you’d better quit your womanizing and get back to Far West this afternoon before that hot-headed Avard does us all in.”
Joseph stared at Mark and Mark returned the look without flinching. He had nearly decided he was the victor in this round when Joseph said, “If that is the case, my trusted attorney, Mark Cartwright, will need to come with me. Seems Atchison and Doniphan aren’t being of much help right now, and I have a compelling need for all my men to be close at hand.”
Mark sighed and surrendered, “Much as I wanted to see my wife, I’m thinking you’re right. Let’s be off.”
Just as the two men started out the door, Mark noticed the pair of blue mittens lying on the mantel. Beside them was a strange medal. He reached out to finger it. Seeing the unfamiliar symbols, he frowned and bent closer to study them. Finally he replaced the medal and examined the mittens again. Surely those were the mittens Jenny had been wearing the last time he had seen her. She had brushed them lightly across his face just before he had marched away from her.
Outside, Mark looked at Joseph standing beside the gelding waiting. He felt his throat tighten.
In the bushes beside the lean-to Jenny watched in amazement. From the moment she had heard the impatient horses stomping beside her door, she had been hiding in the bushes, fearfully expecting to see the thief who had deposited the clock in her cabin.
The sight of Joseph had frozen her beyond voice or movement. While her thoughts had churned out reasons for his being there, Mark had come out the door.
But Jenny still hesitated, wondering and fearful. When the men disappeared from sight, reason returned and Jenny jumped to her feet to run after them. Then suddenly she remembered her purpose for coming to the cabin. The book and the talisman.
She stood poised for flight. There were all those reasons why she needed power, but the most pressing reason was Mark.
While her heart still yearned after him, she rushed into the cabin and began to gather her precious bundle together. “Hurry, Jenny,” she ordered herself, as she prepared to ride after the men, even then anticipating their surprise. But Jenny knew nothing of the messenger who met them just outside of town, nor of the hurried conference that sent them pounding down the road, beyond chance of being overtaken.
Chapter 19
“Where’s the Prophet?” Tom turned to face the agitated man. For some time, Tom had been leaning against the door of the stable; in this position he was able to see down the main street of Far West. During the past week he had been watching men and their families pouring into the town. Every nook and cranny in the place was crowded, and still the people continued to arrive.
Tom looked at the man and sighed. “I don’t rightly know. If it’s lodging you want, you’ll just have to—”
The man interrupted, “It’s Joe I want. Our men caught a fella comin’ out of Liberty. Seems he was carryin’ a letter to Boggs.”
“Militia?”
“Naw. Jest a ragged Gentile.”
Slowly Tom said, “A fella could get into trouble snitchin’ letters bound for the governor’s office.”
“We just wanted a look-see. He could be bought, and after we read it, he went on his way. That’s the problem.”
“Well, tell me the problem. I might be motivated to go take a look for Joe.”
“It was from Atchison.” He paused to let the import of that name sink in.
“Joe’s good lawyer friend,” Tom said slowly. “Well, what was the gist of the letter?”
“It were a letter of complaint. First off he listed a bunch of stuff. Talked about the goings on up in Daviess County. He were fair, that I gotta say for the man. He mentioned the old settlers doing damage to the Saints, too.”
“And?”
“Atchison was sounding like we were doing mob violence, and said he won’t disgrace himself by being part of a mob, too. Therefore he wouldn’t lead out the militia. Sounds like he was suggesting the governor take his hands off, look the other way, and let us and the mobs cut each other’s throats.”
“In other words, we don’t have a lick of protection anymore.”
“On top of that, there’s more of them than there is of us.”
“Sounds like we need to be tightenin’ up the ship.” Tom chewed at his lip for a moment, pondering the situation. Getting to his feet, he reached for the bridle, saying, “Guess I’ll mosey up Adam-ondi-Ahman way and see if I can round up Joe.”
As he started out the door, the man said, “Ah—tell him the Gentile fella said he’d heard General Atchison order out a bunch of his militia to guard the line between Caldwell and Ray counties. He was saying they’d heard the Mormons were fixin’ to attack Richmond. Tom, are we fixin’ to fight out there?”
“Not that I’d know anything about, but then I don’t know everything going on.” Tom didn’t look at him as he led his horse out and reached for the saddle. He was muttering to himself, “I’m guessin’ things are boiling up to a full head of steam; seems it’s time Joseph starts actin’ like a prophet again.”
He turned his horse toward the north and slapped her hard with the reins.
Tom met Mark and Joseph Smith just outside of Gallatin. He delivered the information and the three men headed for Far West at a hard run.
After Jenny left her cabin and turned onto the main road, she hurried her horse along as fast as she dared, hoping to catch up with Mark and Joseph Smith. Just beyond Gallatin she met a group of women and children walking along the road toward her.
Sliding from the mare, Jenny approached the group. “Please, can you tell me,” she asked, “have you seen the Prophet and another man riding this way?”
“Were three men,” came the terse answer. “The way they tore outta here I’m guessing it’s meanin’ more trouble.”
Jenny studied their tired, worried faces. “Why are you walking along the road without your menfolk?”
“Just like you—they’ve run off and left us.” The woman gave a bitter snort and added, “The Missourians have had enough of the thievin’ and burnin’, and they’re riled up. The menfolk are running for their lives, and we’re left to make do the best we can. The Missourians won’t do nothin’ to a bunch of women alone. They’re after the men.”
Another woman joined the group. After listening quietly, she said, “I’ve been against this squabble all along. Don’t make sense to go in and disrupt.” She squinted at Jenny. “Seems people learnt their lessons in Jackson. We found we had to keep still about Missouri being Zion, and j
ust go on like common folk.” There was an accusing note in her voice, and Jenny began understanding how the Jacksonites were viewing the newcomers from Ohio.
The first woman took up the conversation again. “Like a bird in the hand, most of us were willing to shelve the Zion idea if they’d just leave us alone and let us homestead.”
The wistful words remained with Jenny as she rode on toward Far West.
It was dusk when Jenny reached town. Holding her horse down to a walk, she studied the changes which had taken place in the week since she had left. Now Far West was filled with people and wagons. Campfires dotted the town square and children played in the street. On every corner people teemed restlessly about.
Jenny pulled on the reins. Looking around, she tried to guess where Mark and Joseph would be.
A woman stopped beside her. “You be lookin’ for someone?”
“Joseph Smith and another—no, two more men.”
“Well, things are rilin’. I expect you’ll find all the men at the general store.”
Jenny thanked her and gratefully slid from the horse. With a tired sigh she tied the horse to the hitching post and entered the store. Spotting the cluster of men gathered around the bar, she headed for them.
Joseph, leaning close to the men, was saying, “Now, fellas, here’s what we’ll do,” he stopped and lifted his head as she approached. Mark turned, jumped up, hobbled quickly toward her.
“Jenny, where’ve you been?” his voice was strained and his hand grasped her arm until she winced.
“Oh, Mark, I’m so glad—”
“Never mind. I can’t leave now, but Tom’ll see you back to the Morgans. This time, don’t leave until I come after you. Promise me?” She looked up into his face, seeing the lines of strain, the pale circle around his mouth. She nodded and he turned to beckon Tom to them.
