Morning Star (24 page)

Only Sarah's face, of all those in the room, reflected complete boredom. Their eyes met again and Sarah murmured, “Jenny, you are looking well.” Then she turned abruptly, and Jenny went on.

Emma pointed to the chair beside her. “Oh, Emma,” Jenny whispered under the cover of the excited outburst around them, “I'm so sorry you've lost your baby.”

“Was it punishment? No.” Her lips twisted, knowing that only she and Jenny shared the memory of that last time together. “I've had eight babies and only three survive. Jenny, I am getting to be an old woman. Where does it all end?” Jenny saw her fear and bowed her head. When she next looked, the small polite smile was back, and Emma was extending a limp, powerless hand to the gentleman beside her.

After dinner, when the group had reshifted and settled into new comfortable segments, Jenny found herself shuffled toward the end of the room. Wedging into a chair beside the door, she loosened the concealing shawl and picked up a book to use as a fan.

She heard a murmur of voices behind her, coming from the kitchen. Recognizing Mark's voice, she went into the hallway.

Joseph and Mark, with their backs to her, were in the kitchen talking to another man. As Jenny hesitated, Joseph reached out to take the paper extended toward him. The men shifted and Jenny saw Orson Pratt.

Before she could make her presence known, he was saying, “He considered me a dissenter. He's accused me of having designs of my own.” The light flooded the expression on his face. Distaste filled Jenny at the overweening manner of the man as he continued, “Little did he dream I would use the letter to advantage.”

Joseph was reading and murmuring, “Written at Springfield. Wonder if he was at the trial? It wouldn't surprise me at all. Addressed to you and Rigdon, huh? Well, let's see . . .”

In a moment he said thoughtfully, “Thank you, Pratt, you've done me a great favor. Mark, says here that Bennett's had contact with Missouri authorities. Now in the making is an attempt to revive the old charges. He's mentioning murder, arson, theft, larceny, and stealing. Well, well, my dear Dr. Bennett, seems we're one up on you.”

Jenny was beside Mark when Joseph raised his head to study Pratt's face. “You've done me a favor, Pratt—is it more than just a bid for recognition? You've been rebaptized into the church, you and your wife. Is there something else you want?”

The man's voice was low, “Just my old position. I want to be back in the Quorum of Twelve. Might even be a good example, encouragement to others, seeing me back where I belong.”

Joseph clapped him on the shoulder, “Wanting to be our gauge of philosophy again, eh, professor? Well, we need you nearly as much as you need us.”

Jenny and Mark were silent as they rode homeward. Once Jenny roused herself to comment on the dinner. But she faced Mark's dark scowl and dared not reveal her own churning emotions.

Chapter 23

“Mark. You'll be at the meeting tonight?”

Mark lifted his head and saw Joseph lounging in the doorway of the office. “Huh? Yes, Joseph, I'll be there. Sorry. I was in the middle of this and didn't hear you.” He gestured toward the book he had been reading and got to his feet. Unexpectedly his eyes met those of William Clayton.

The hang-dog expression in the eyes of Joseph's secretary caught his attention. He hesitated, but Joseph jerked his head toward his own office and turned away. Mark sighed in frustration. Sharing office space with Clayton created problems; but, he had to admit as he shuffled the papers on his desk, the problems seemed related to Joseph's desire for secrecy.

Slowly Mark picked up the brief and started to follow the Prophet, but Clayton's expression nagged at his attention. Why was the man constantly in a state of tension?

Joseph was at his desk with his feet up, placed in the middle of the papers, and his hands clasped behind his head. “What's Clayton finding to complain about?”

“Why, I don't think he was.” Mark frowned with the effort to remember the man's words. “Honestly, I wasn't paying him much attention. He does ramble at times. Oh, seems he was talking about your sermon. Joseph, you can't be checking on everything that's happening,” he said in exasperation.

Then he continued, “Jenny and I didn't get out this last Sabbath. It was too cold, and her time is getting close.” For a moment Mark saw interest flare in the Prophet's eyes. Anger surged through Mark, but holding his voice even he continued, “Clayton mentioned you'd talked about the kingdom of God, and I asked him to define
kingdom
. He said where the oracles of God are given, there is the kingdom. I guess my attention drifted after that.”

“Do you agree?”

“Jesus Christ said His kingdom isn't of this world.
Oracles
is an Old Testament word I'm not very familiar with. Right now the only scripture I can think of dealing with oracle is where the prophets are warned against declaring their own words as oracles of the Lord.”

Joseph paused for a moment and then nodded. “'Tis a fearful thing to take upon one's self the burden of claiming the Lord's word when it isn't.”

He leaned forward. “About this priesthood meeting. I know you've bucked counsel, but I believe I can rescue you from apostasy. The Lord has shown me great and wonderful things which are to be unfolded before the Saints in the coming months and years.”

Mark shifted restlessly. “You'll insist even when you know how I believe?”

“To your soul's salvation.” As he continued speaking, Mark was caught in a moment of seeing Joseph through the eyes of a stranger. There was something very compelling about the man. His pale eyes gleamed with the new idea, while the expression lighting his face momentarily touched Mark with a tingle of excitement.

“Mark, there's lots about the priesthood meetings which is old hat. Business and the mundane of kingdom planning. But believe me, if you'll handle counsel, I promise you there'll be no regrets.” Again Mark saw the flare of excitement. After a moment's hesitation Joseph said, “Might as well let a little of this slip. If I can't trust you to keep it quiet until the appointed time, then who—”

Mark watched Joseph flexing the steel letter opener until Mark expected to see it fly from his hands. It still held his fascinated gaze as Joseph continued, “The Lord's told me now's the time to begin the organization of the kingdom.

“There's been just a few of us in meeting, planning and discussing in preparation. It's all great and far-reaching; I must start by recruiting every man of intelligence and integrity in the church.”

Mark was lining up all he had heard: the facts, the whispers, even the expressions of doubt and fear. He was readying his refusal when words thrown into air dropped into his mind with understanding:
rule the world, king, President of the United States
.

But Joseph wasn't waiting for his answer. He moved on to a new subject. “Mark, I know you started bucking this all when you heard about the Lodge coming to town. Man, I tell you, if you haven't vision and faith to grasp all this on your own, at least for your soul's welfare, be willing to accept on the faith of the others.”

Joseph paused and leaned forward, searching Mark's face with those penetrating eyes. He whispered, “This is from God. Mark, I was utterly compelled to embrace the teaching. Would it help if I were to tell you God revealed to me new information about the order of Masons? He told me this is the ancient wisdom. The same priesthood was given to the first father, Adam. Later it was passed on to the great fathers, Noah and such. By the time it reached Solomon, it had become corrupted. What has happened now is that God has restored it to us in all its pristine beauty and holiness. It is to be part of the deep inner workings of the kingdom.”

“Including the secret rituals?” Mark added. “This is the type of thing the
Book of Mormon
speaks against.” He paused and then added, “Why is it the church is departing from the original revelations?”

“It isn't.”

“I ran into David Whitmer and William McLellin in Springfield last November. We had quite a talk. They had a lot of questions about the church and Nauvoo.”

“Yeah?” Joseph's face brightened. “They coming back?”

“I doubt it. They brought up some pretty hard questions, and I couldn't find an answer that would satisfy you.”

“What questions?”

“Well, for a starter,
they
answered a question I'd had since I heard about it, related to the big to-do when the Kirtland temple was dedicated. I knew you'd promised there would be a tremendous endowment for the men, particularly those who'd been part of the army sent to rescue the Saints in Jackson, Missouri. A few had told me the endowment was a great success. Both Whitmer and McLellin said it was a trumped-up farce. Not only a failed revelation but a sham of the lowest kind perpetuated by suggestion and wine.”

“Anything else?” Joseph asked.

“Have you made the statement that the revelations are the recorded words of the Lord Jesus Christ?”

“That is so. You've heard me say that more than once in those words, more or less.”

“McLellin told me he'd been closely connected with you at the time they were being prepared for publication. He mentioned that the revelations, just before printing, had been altered so much they scarcely resembled the original.

“Joseph, isn't it presumptuous—no, more than that—isn't it blasphemous to change the Lord's words?”

Before Joseph could answer, Mark added, “David Whitmer was troubled by the idea of even considering that God might change His mind. I feel the same way. If I can't depend upon God to say something and stick by His words, then what can I depend upon?”

****

Jenny draped the black cloth over the mirror while the herbs curled and crisped in the pan on the stove. They were beginning to smolder when she put on the red robe.

It had been the similarity between the robe and Adela's red dress that seized her attention at Christmastime. Had it been the spirits' urge to enable her to search once again for more power? Jenny knew how desperately she needed power for the months ahead.

Shaking off the strange foreboding that she knew signalled the gathering of the spirits, Jenny began walking about her house, holding high the pan of smoldering herbs. The chant she muttered rose and fell in the prescribed rhythm, corresponding to the dipping of the pan. She was in the bedroom when the pounding began.

She froze in horror, staring at the smoking pan in her trembling hands. Immediately her thoughts flew to that forest scene, seeing the twisting apparition and hearing the thunder.

Immediately the resolution born of that time flew into her face to confront her. The pounding came again, and she cried, “Oh, God! It is
wrong
!”

Just then she heard a voice, “Jen! Are you in there?”

It was Tom—not spirits, but a very human Tom. Trembling with relief, she placed the pan on the floor and stumbled down the stairs. “Tom, I'm coming!” she called.

Wrenching the back door open, she gasped, “Give a body time! I don't move as fast as before.”

Tom came grinning into the room. He was carrying a small parcel which he handed to Jenny. “From Sally. Came into the livery stable with it, she did; said hurry, you might need it before she could get out.”

“Oh.” Jenny collapsed into the rocking chair and opened the package. It was a soft knitted shawl.

“That's as blue as the Prophet's eyes,” Tom said admiringly.

Jenny dropped the shawl and stared at him, whispering, “Tom, whatever made you say that?”

“Why,” he stammered, “I don't know. Jest seemed to be the same color.”

She looked at it and said, “I may hate it because—”

Tom was sniffing. “What's that strange smell? It's nearly like burnt wood.”

“Oh!” She was out of the chair, moving faster than she thought possible. When she reached the bedroom, Tom was right behind her.

He stared down at her kneeling on the floor as she gingerly lifted the pan. “Ugh. It's stuck to the floor, took some of the paint off. What'll Mark say?”

“I don't know. Is he that bad a fusser?”

“Seems lately—” her voice was faint as she scuffed at the spot with her fingernails.

“What were you trying to do?” Tom was holding up the pan and peering at the contents. “It couldn't be dinner. The whole house is full of the stink.”

With a sigh, Jenny pulled herself to her feet and started wearily for the stairs. Suddenly the ritual seemed utterly foolish.

Tom was behind her and as they passed through the parlor, he paused. “You break this mirror, too?”

She turned and snatched at the scrap of cloth draped across the new mirror. The tears were starting down her face, and she tried to dab at them as she hurried back into the kitchen.

Tom took her shoulder and pulled her around. “Hey, give a little. What's got you so upset? So you were trying to cook supper in the bedroom and you burned the floor. Can't you jest level with your old brother?”

Jenny flew into his arms, crying and denying the need. “It's just being pregnant, I guess. I feel so ugly and everything.”

He eased her into the rocking chair and said, “I thought females were supposed to feel just like they look—Hey, I didn't mean that! Girls, women! Ah, Jenny, hush!”

She tried, and he added gloomily. “My first impressions are right. I'm not cut out to be a husband, and all this other. Regardless of what Joseph says, I just can't.”

Abruptly Jenny was laughing through the tears. “Oh, Tom. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that—”

Just as abruptly he said, “Okay, now level. What were you doing? Why the rag over the mirror?”

She stopped mopping her eyes and looked at his frown. The years had taught her evasion was impossible. “I've been using the charms and herbs.”