Morning Star (46 page)

He saw the Prophet outlined in the window, watched his hand come up in a familiar Masonic gesture, and heard the cry, “Is there no help for the widow's son?” Overlapping the cry was the blast of gunfire, and Joseph pitched forward through the window.

Tom had seen dead men before; he turned away and climbed back on his horse.

****

“Listen!” Jenny straightened in her chair and cocked her head. Beside her Mark stood, caught, listening with one hand outstretched. Jenny crossed her hands and pressed them to her throat. The thunder of the cannons seemed to come from all directions, and the concussion struck her heart, filling her with terror.

Wildly she looked around, “Mark, it's everywhere!”

“Warsaw, Quincy, Carthage, Montrose,” he named them as the explosions continued.

She saw his face and threw herself into his arms. “My husband, is it war?”

He shook his head and held her close. They stood together, holding their breath and listening. Suddenly a new sound burst upon their ears. Distant, dim, then picking up new voices, the bells tolled.

She searched his face, not knowing the question to ask. In wonder he said, “Those aren't sad bells; they're rejoicing!”

“But Nauvoo hasn't a bell,” Jenny protested. His answer came slowly.

“I don't think Nauvoo has a reason to rejoice.”

In the morning Tom came. His face was ashen as he dropped into the rocking chair and told his story. Finally he sat at the table and ate the breakfast Jenny prepared for him, saying, “If you want to pay homage, we best start soon. I came during the night to carry the news and alert the Legion. They will be bringing the coffins to Nauvoo House soon.”

“He was a friend—of course we will go,” Mark said, and Jenny listening nodded her approval. Their eyes met. Many things still lay unsaid between them. But she understood the expression, and felt the same deep emotion as their hands stretched toward each other.

Long before they reached Nauvoo there was the sound of muffled drums, the clink of horse's hooves on stone. And then they heard the weeping Saints and the shuffle of the Legion's feet.

On the street leading to Nauvoo House, Jenny and Mark, holding the baby, stood close together, watching as the wagon carrying its burden of black-draped coffins slowly creaked past.

While dust powdered upward behind the horses, Mark turned to see the masses pressing in waves of black toward Nauvoo House. “Jenny, I would like to express my condolences to Emma, but let's slip around the back way.”

By the time Jenny and Mark had walked through the trees and approached the Nauvoo House through the back trails, the queue of Saints extended through the streets, beyond the mill, the newspaper office, Joseph's store, and beyond the stables into the temple grove.

Mark took Jenny's hand as they started down the steps toward the coffins. As they neared, a woman in black rushed forward. Jenny watched her convulsive weeping as she made her way to the coffin.

When she extended one trembling hand to touch Joseph's coffin, Mark said slowly, “That's Lucinda Morgan Harris.” Strange that she seems so very—”

“Yes, I know,” Jenny murmured. Her attention was caught by the man approaching Emma Smith.

She watched him bend over Emma's hand, press something into her palm, and then move away. When Jenny and Mark reached Emma, her reddened eyes were staring at the circle of metal in her palm.

Hesitantly Jenny moved forward, wondering whether to kiss that icy woman or merely shake her hand. But the sight of the disk stopped her.

Shuddering but fascinated, Jenny stepped close to Emma and looked down at the talisman. “Oh, Emma,” she whispered. “Please, please throw it away!”

The bowed woman in black straightened and looked at Jenny. “I shall not; it belonged to my dear husband.” Slowly she added, “Dr. Richards recovered it for me. It was in his pocket.”

Clasping the medal to her bosom, she said softly, “Little I have to remember his greatness, but always I shall have this precious token. And it was precious. You see, for as long as I can remember he's carried this medal.”

Dread filled Jenny as she clasped the woman's hand. Jenny knew she was shivering. “Believe me,” she pleaded, “the powers of darkness work through such items. I would be amiss if I didn't warn you. Don't let the powers reach out and taint you and your children.”

Emma pulled her hand away from Jenny, and with a touch of her usual spunk she snapped, “Powers of darkness! My husband was a virtuous man. Don't think to deprive me of the last link I shall ever have.”

As Emma turned away the tears stung Jenny's eyes, blurring into one mass of blackness—the woman, the covered coffins, and the line of weeping Saints.

Mark's hand was on her arm. She covered it with her own as they turned to go. Back in the shadows they passed another black-clad woman. As she turned away, Jenny recognized Eliza Snow.

Jenny shivered again, this time for the Jenny who very nearly joined the ranks of these dark-clad wives.

Silently they walked back through the trees again. When they found the path, Jenny stopped and turned. She looked back at the Nauvoo House and the coffins. “Poor Joseph.”

Thoughtfully Mark said, “It'll be the legend of Joseph which will live on. At the hands of his people history will be kind to him. Soon even these Saints will forget the pain and bondage he has inflicted upon the seekers of the truth.”

“Mark, I'm so grateful.”

“Jesus Christ?”

She nodded. “Why did He allow us to be blessed with truth? Why did He allow us to escape? After all the ugliness of my life, why did He care enough to just
give
me a gift so precious? Gladly I would have worked my fingers to the bone for the rest of my days, just to earn it.”

“To earn salvation, to earn His love? Jenny, my darling wife, there's no way you could have earned it, even working your fingers to the bone. You received it because you wanted it. Salvation is a free gift, but it isn't cheap. It cost God's life.”

Jenny nodded and linked her arm through Mark's. She couldn't speak for the tears that rose in her throat, but Mark understood her silence. He smiled and squeezed her hand, and together they walked toward home.

MARIAN WELLS and her husband live in Boulder, Colorado. A well-known author, her research and background on Mormonism provided the thrust for her bestselling S
TARLIGHT
T
RILOGY
, the
Wedding Dress
and
With This Ring
.

Books by Marian Wells

The Wedding Dress

With This Ring

Karen

T
HE
S
TARLIGHT
T
RILOGY
S
ERIES

The Wishing Star

Star Light, Star Bright

Morning Star

T
HE
T
REASURE
Q
UEST
S
ERIES

The Silver Highway

Colorado Gold

Out of the Crucible

Jewel of Promise