Morning Star (37 page)

The look on Sally's face told Jenny that she had closed the door.

In the late afternoon the Morgans left for home. Mark stood beside Jenny as the buggy rambled down the lane. He saw the hopeless expression on Jenny's face as she turned away.

Tom was saying, “Come on, Mark, let's go try that new fishing pole of yours.”

“In the river?” Jenny asked slowly. “Well, go along. I don't want to hike down that steep bank. Maybe I'll bake a gingercake.”

Mark led the way across the pasture and into the woods. “There's a pretty good path right through here, and I've managed to trample it down. I'd like to get a good-sized bass. Think this pole is strong enough?” He peered at Tom. “Something wrong?”

“Naw, not much. Just talk again. There's a rumor floatin' around that the Lodge is in trouble. Seems the Grand Worshipful Master from Springfield is a mite upset. They're claiming we're corrupting the Masonic ritual. They've ordered Joseph to send the records into Springfield, and he's takin' his time about doin' it. I 'spect we'll lose out yet. Mostly I don't like them charging us with bein' clandestine, whatever that's supposed to mean.”

They scrambled down the last slope and made their way out on the rocks. Tom continued, “Seems to me that the Lodge was the best thing that's happened to the church in a long time. Seemed to give us new direction.”

In silence Mark threaded the line and Tom baited the hook. Then he handed the pole to Tom. “Here, you use it first.”

Tom cast out and flashed an approving grin. “That's smooth!” They settled down on the rocks and watched the line drift.

Mark shifted his weight on the rock and heard the clink of metal. As he turned toward the sound he saw the disk catch the sun as it dropped from the rock to the sandy shore. “I wonder—might be a coin,” he murmured, jumping off the rock.

“Got a bite,” Tom said. “Aw, lost the bait.” He pulled in the line and reached for the worms as Mark crawled up on the rock. “Well, what did you find?”

Mark pulled the disk out of his pocket. “Thought it was a dollar, but it seems to be some kind of medallion.”

Tom dropped his line into the water and turned to take the medal. “Looks like lead. Hey, there's writing and numbers on it. I bet that's Jenny's. She mentioned having a talisman and was wishing she had it back.”

“Did she lose it?” Mark asked, studying the curious disk.

“I can't rightly remember. All I know is she was wishing for it. Seems it means a great deal to her—more'n a good luck charm.” Tom turned quickly, “There!”

Mark watched him pulling in a big bass. Tom grinned up at him. “Might be, if she doesn't want it, you ought to be using it for fishing. Sure works.”

When they walked into the kitchen, Tom held out the fish and sniffed hungrily. “Well, here's supper. I'll trade for some of that cake.”

He put the fish on the table. “Jen, is this your talisman? Mark found it down on the rocks.”

Mark saw the color leave Jenny's face as she took a hesitant step toward Tom and slowly reached for the disk. For a moment, before her hand closed around it, Mark thought she was going to refuse it.

He watched her close her fingers around it and tuck it into her pocket. Then he remembered why the little disk seemed familiar. This was the talisman he had seen lying beside her mittens on the mantel of their cabin in Missouri.

Chapter 37

The first Monday in March, on the way into Nauvoo, Mark met Orson Pratt and they completed the ride together.

Orson said, “March is in like a lamb; does this foreshadow life roaring like a lion in Nauvoo this spring?”

Mark looked at him. “Not unless you know more about life than I do. As of last week I was thinking life had tamed down a bit.”

“Well, I know Joseph's been touching men for the honor of being on the Council of Fifty. He's calling them princes and saying this will be the highest court on earth.”

As Mark continued to listen to Pratt, pricks of apprehension began to make him uneasy. Orson interrupted himself to ask, “You've been asked, haven't you?”

Slowly Mark said, “Yes, but I'm beginning to wonder what I'm getting into.” Pratt's eyes were sparkling. Mark said, “I suppose it's just a juvenile fear of the unknown. But I hope Joseph's kept the rest of you men better informed than he has me.”

When Mark walked up the stairs to the office, he found Tom waiting for him. “Well, Brother Tom, I didn't expect to see you this early in the morning. Clayton, yes, Joseph, maybe, but Tom, no.” Now he noticed Tom's grin was uneasy.

He glanced at Joseph's door and Tom said, “He ain't here yet, that's how come I am.”

“Spill it; he'll be here shortly.”

“You been tapped for the Council of Fifty?” Mark nodded. “Planning on joining?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“On account of Jenny? Maybe not. I come a-beggin' you to do it.” Mark let his eyebrows express his feelings. “I know,” Tom added. “But there's some weird things a-movin' into town. We're goin' to need some normality to the proceedings.”

“Thanks, Brother,” Mark said. Tom let his chair crash down on all four legs as he headed for the door.

Tom's eyes under the thatch of straw-colored hair were as bright as marbles. “She still got the talisman?”

Mark shrugged. “I suppose so.” Tom left the room and clattered down the stairs.

****

John Mark was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor pounding his wooden spoon on a tin pie pan.

Balancing the talisman on her fingertips, Jenny stood beside the stove. In the two weeks since the charm had been returned to her, Jenny had pondered the significance behind its return. Night and day, the thoughts had nagged her.

Jenny sighed and carried her brooding thoughts into the parlor away from John Mark's clatter. She sat in the chair beside the table and looked at her Bible. Strange, she mused, it was starting to look like Mark's, with the edges curling out in that inviting manner, suggesting all sorts of interesting things inside.

She murmured the verse she had discovered yesterday: “And Elijah came unto all the people, and said, How long halt ye between two opinions? if the Lord be God, follow him: but if Baal, then follow him. And the people answered him not a word.”

She closed her eyes and let the thought drift through her, to carry where it would. “Mark,” she whispered, and her fingers tightened around the talisman. When she felt the tears on her face, she knew that she had decided.

She addressed the Presence. “I won him by unfair means with the talisman. I deserve to lose him. But more than that, the Book is telling me that I can't claim anything of God. The knowing, the gentle love of Jesus, the promise that's leading me along—none of this is mine unless I do just as those people in the book of Acts did when they burned the charms and books.”

With a sigh, Jenny got out of the chair and then paused. For only a moment did she hesitate; then quickly, while she dared, she ran up the stairs and pulled out of the trunk a paper-wrapped parcel.

Back in the kitchen Jenny lifted the stove lid and shoved the green book and the talisman in. John Mark abandoned his pie pan and came to stand beside her. He looked up at her with the solemn blue-green eyes of his father.

The book caught fire and the talisman slipped down through the ashes. Jenny replaced the lid and knelt to take John Mark in her arms. “Da?” he questioned, and she buried her tears in his blue sailor suit.

After Jenny fed John Mark and carried him up the stairs, she found it impossible to leave him. Together they snuggled under the quilt. She watched as his eyes closed, and kissed the damp hand he flung at her.

She slept, and she dreamed. Rising out of sleep she was conscious of the spiraling, the flash of the silver chalice, and the wash of purple wine. The words were on her lips, “I baptize thee in the name of Jesus Christ.” Jenny took a deep breath and was conscious of relaxing, sinking into the softness of sleep.

Mark and Orson rode home together, each silent and heavy with thoughts of that first council meeting. Mark wondered if Orson was signifying by his silence that he, too, was feeling the slash of words, the violation.

Just before they reached the Pratt farm turnoff, Orson tilted his head and looked at the full moon. “Guess it takes a man who is called of God, one who's communed with the Almighty, to put forth a vision no mortal would dare dream.”

Mark's heart sank; he couldn't think of a reply. Orson continued, “I nearly need to pinch myself. Imagine what this world's going to be like in another few years! Somehow I can see Joseph striding along, king of the whole world, but I just can't see a humble man like me.” He turned, “I suppose the biggest fear is trying to imagine handling the people like a monarch is supposed to.”

He looked curiously at Mark. “You're his attorney; did you have any idea that he was going to be made king of the kingdom of God?”

Jenny and Mark were at the breakfast table when Tom came. John Mark had porridge running down his chin and he was crowing his delight at the world. “Birthday boy,” Jenny said; she was kissing his curls when the door opened.

Seeing his face, she whispered, “Tom.” He crossed the kitchen and dropped heavily into a chair at the table.

Fingering the knife and fork lying there, he said, “I couldn't take having you find out when you drove into Nauvoo. And I knew you'd want to go to the funeral.”

They waited, and finally he lifted his head. “Sally.” After another pause, “Andy's takin' it pretty hard. She'd taken something.”

Jenny was rubbing her numb lips, saying, “Less than three weeks ago—oh, Mark, I could see—I tried to tell her about reading the Bible. I felt so helpless, but I honestly didn't think this would happen. It's my fault, isn't it?”

“How could you possibly think that?” She shook her head and pressed her lips together.

The events only became real to Jenny as she stood in the shady grove, seeing the long wooden box, the somber faces, the dark coats. Andy was holding Tamara in his arms.

While the tears began streaming down Jenny's face, she caught a glimpse of Andy, and a burning anger began to move through Jenny.

Jenny and some of the other women went home with Andy and Tamara to help out. They stuck spring flowers in a water glass and positioned them in the middle of Sally's table. They made the house neat, but it was chilled, and quiet. There was nothing more to do for the silent man surrounded by the hedge of Saints. Jenny took her shawl and left.

On the steps she paused. Surprisingly the sun was shining, and it was spring. John Mark's birthday month; life was still moving on. She took a deep breath and felt the dredges of her anger surfacing.

Mark had taken John Mark, freeing her to set order to Sally's empty house. Walking slowly down the street, she turned toward Mark's office, caring little that her black skirt was dragging in the dust.
If Joseph is right, then Sally's secure in the eternities, holding forever the position as Joseph's queen
.

And if he was wrong? She lifted her head and began slowly walking up the stairs to the office. Somehow she knew he was.

A solitary person occupied the office—Joseph, not Mark. He turned and she briefly saw his troubled face until it lightened into a smile. “You've come to see me?”

“No, I was looking for Mark. He has the baby.”

“I know. Nice looking tot. He's headed for home with him. Said something about diapers.”

Looking at him, for a moment, Jenny burned with anger. Trying to calm herself, she shuffled ideas—that talisman belonging to Joseph, the surging unrest moving throughout the Mormon kingdom, the whispers and fears. Her own secret, which she had not dared reveal to Sally.

For a moment she was caught wondering. If she had told Sally of her own secret shame, would Sally still be alive? She shivered, nearly sick with the thought.

“You've lost your friend.” Joseph was speaking with a brooding air. “I'm sorry. I'm also guessing that the loss has made you aware of your precarious position.” She studied the stuffy words and watched as he turned from the window.

He straightened his shoulders under the funeral black of his silk coat. One hand, the one wearing the heavy gold ring, moved to smooth his hair.

“Queen of heaven?” She moved restlessly. “Joseph, are you aware of
how
she died?”

He nodded and the sadness touched his face, leaving it colorless. The blue of his eyes, intensified by his pallor, possessed her attention momentarily. In that second, nothing else existed.

She moved and turned away. “Do you see your part in this?”

“My dear, obviously Sally was weak, unable to handle the pressures of life. I must say it takes a strong, magnificent woman to live up to the promises of heaven extended through the priesthood. Don't blame me for her death. I've only acknowledged the pressure of the mighty hand of God upon my life. I dared not live otherwise.”

“I know Sally wanted more than anything to escape hell and please God. Andy is a good Mormon; why couldn't she have been sealed to him instead of you?”

“Because the Lord gave her to me, just as he gave you to me. Are you going to tempt the Lord until you become another Sally—unable to face life?”

Busy with her thoughts, she didn't answer, and he said, “Jenny, come here.”

She turned and he was holding out his arms, smiling. “And if I refuse?”

“You won't. You're just as fearful of failing to live up to your religion as Sally was—only my dear, I've more confidence in your strength. Also, remember that little boy.”

Jenny trembled, but at the same moment she felt an unexpected strength slipping into her. She remembered the dream of the chalice. Strange how that wine seemed to flow over her when she needed it most! Wine. Blood. The blood of Jesus. The atoning sacrifice. No more sins, nothing to be escaped. She considered.