Morning Star (6 page)

The wind rose, but Jenny remained huddled on the steps, powerless to move. The air was filled with autumn's treasure of brilliant leaves. They swirled, lifted on the wings of the wind. When one brown missile was flung against her cheek, Jenny lifted her face. The air was full of the brilliance of the leaves. Wind-borne, they circled high.

Abruptly the sun broke through the clouds, lighting the fire of scarlet leaves, and Jenny saw the scene again: red, grasping branches, smoky clouds. Jenny's heart began to pound. Scrambling to her feet she fled into the house and stood pressed against the closed door, knowing again the horror of the mirrored vision.

The room was darkening, but Jenny was conscious only of the alien wind and the amplified horror of the mirror. The wind buffeted the door as she pushed against it. Did she hear her name thrown into the wind? As she strained to hear, there was an anguished groan and crash. Now the door strained against her.

“Jenny, it's me, Mark. Let me in.”

She stepped backward and pressed trembling hands at her tumbling hair. Biting her lips, she fought for calmness, knowing it wasn't working. His eyes widened and his hands were moving over her. “Are you hurt? Jenny, what is it? Answer me.”

She gulped, but her voice came out a thin whisper. “Whatever is wrong? I'm not hurt; why do you ask?”

He held her close and then looked into her eyes. She saw his jaw tighten. “It was a mistake, wasn't it? I should never have brought you this far away.”

“From Springfield? Nonsense, Mark. I wanted to come.” Now she knew her voice sounded threadbare, without substance. He led her to the kitchen and poured hot water over the tea leaves. His face was still pale and lined, but the expression he turned on her was level, demanding.

“Jenny, why don't you tell me what is happening to you? From the time we decided to move to Nauvoo, you became a different person. You came back to life—the old Jenny. But for the past six weeks you've been wandering around in a cloud.”

Her voice was deliberate, flat even to her own ears: “You are saying this because I've become a slothful housewife. But I've been bored by it all. Mark, if only we had a child. If only—”

For a moment his face relaxed, “If that's all, I'd—” In his silence he paced the kitchen floor. “Jenny, I'm going on instinct. I know you are deeply troubled—perhaps it is our childlessness. I'm willing to abide by that for now. But why do I feel as if I can no longer touch the real Jenny? I was certain that bringing you to the shelter of the church—to Joseph's Nauvoo—would be the answer to your problems.”

He fell silent, and Jenny sensed the hesitancy in his statement. Painfully she gripped her wounded hands and pressed them against her. The temptation to pour it all out was nearly more than she could bear. But looking up at her husband, she saw not concern and questions, but instead horror, shrinking away, even outrage if she were to tell him the truth.

She studied his face, saw his attempt to smile as he said, “I suppose you miss those silly games you and the senator's wife were playing with the scarves and herbs. Jenny, I must insist—”

She was breathless. “What?”

“You're going to be ill unless you break this tide. As soon as it is possible, we are going to move into town. But until we can, I insist you make every effort to get acquainted with the women of Nauvoo. There's Sarah Pratt, Sally, Eliza Snow. Miss Snow teaches school; perhaps you could help her with the children.”

Jenny jumped to her feet, “Mark! I don't want—”

“All right, I won't tell you what must be done. You decide for yourself—just don't stay out here alone day after day. I heard that group of women inviting you to be part of their sewing circle. I also heard your answer. You sounded haughty; no wonder they haven't asked again.” He moved away, saying as he turned, “I intend to buy you a light buggy as soon as I can find one. Jenny, I am worried about you and I intend to act on your best interests. Even if that means returning to Springfield.”

Chapter 5

Jenny snuggled her face into the warm folds of her shawl and flicked the reins across the mare's back. It was only Mark's insistence that had her out of the house today. The January sky was slowly releasing snowflakes, nearly as reluctantly as Jenny was to receive them.

The mare's pace quickened. As many times as she had taken this trip in the past two months, she need not be urged toward the livery stable.

Tom was there to take the reins from her. He frowned and studied her face. “Still a mite peaked. Mark's worried; thinks you're fretting yourself sick.”

“Mark's bothering himself for no reason,” she answered smartly. She took Tom's hand and stepped down. “He can't stand for a body to think or feel a bit different than he does.”

Tom's brow unfurled itself and he grinned. “He's pokin' you about religion again?” She gave him a level look and said nothing. “Oh, been into the book again! Tryin' to raise up a storm?”

“Tom, for the years you spent following the Prophet while he did his money digging, you are a mite sarcastic. I'd expect more sympathy. Would you like me to give you a love potion?” He reddened, and Jenny pressed on, “I intend to have the power, no matter how it must come about.”

“What you want power for?” Jenny closed her eyes for a moment and tried to line up the reasons, but saw only that vision of Sally, assured and confident. “Jen,” he said impatiently, “why is it you can never be satisfied with anything?”

“It goes deeper than being satisfied. I suppose I'm just tired of being a nothing.”

Tom's eyes widened. “Married to one of the most important men in town outside Joseph and his twelve, and she calls it nothing.”

“It's how I feel.” Now the new thought came. Jenny contemplated the visions of Joseph. “Maybe,” she said slowly, “I need to go talk religion with Joseph.”

Tom frowned again. “Meaning?” His eyes were watchful.

“Meaning, I can't spend all my time with the sewing circle or at Sally's. Meaning, sometimes I have serious thoughts in my head.”

She knew he was still watching her as she headed down the street toward Joseph's office. Her heart was heavy as she contemplated the lonely figure of her brother—silent, faithful, undemanding. She couldn't help wondering whether he ever had experienced this brooding need to split through the seams of life and discover something for himself.

Unexpectedly, her latest discovery burst into her mind and she shivered. Would autumn's terrible vision ever leave her? Again she murmured, “I'm through with the craft forever.” The familiar discontent settled upon her. All the spirit-world's promises of power and knowledge had come to naught. Except for the bid for higher status offered only through the dreaded sabbat, she had tried every trick of the craft, and still she was only weak Jenny.

As Jenny approached Joseph's store, she began to wonder how she would win an audience with the Prophet alone. Surely Mark—or at least some of the twelve—would be with him.

She hesitated at the bottom of the long flight of stairs stretching up the exterior brick wall of the store. She was self-conscious, aware that every eye on the street would take stock of Jenny Cartwright going to Joseph's office. “And every Saint in town will be chewing over Jenny, wondering what problem has sent her running to the Prophet for advice.” Jenny abruptly decided she needed a bit of cloth to stitch.

Joseph was inside, in his shirt sleeves, stocking shelves as casually as a junior clerk. When he noticed her he said, “Mark's gone to Carthage for me. Business. You could buy a ham or a nice new plow while you are here.”

After greeting him she lowered her voice. “Joseph, it's you I must see.”

His hands slowed among the boxes and rolls of twine. She nearly squirmed under the questions in his eyes, the faint smile. “I need advice. Joseph, it's important. There's no other place to go.”

“Have you seen Dr. Bennett? Surely he can help you out.”

“What? Joseph, not medical. I want to talk about the craft and—religion.”

He frowned, then his face cleared in a smile. “Then wait by the stove.” He jerked his head toward the women in the store. “They'll soon be gone.”

When the store was empty, he came back to her. Sitting down on the bench beside her, he clasped his hands and leaned forward. “Jenny, my dear, what seems to be the problem?”

She backed away, too conscious of the small space between them and the warmth of him reaching through her chill. Caught by the significance, she frowned in annoyance. For a moment she studied his face, wondering again at the magnetism of this man. His smile was encouraging.

“Joseph,” she groped for a beginning. “Do you still have the talisman?”

“Yes, but I'm wise this time; I'll not take it out for you to see.”

“I'd forgotten that,” she said, and his grin flashed, underscoring the lie while she blushed. “Joseph, I didn't forget. I just didn't want you getting the best of me right off.”

“Right off?”

She ignored the thrust. “I need to know. Do you remember in Missouri at Captain Patten's funeral you said that you had the power to give to those who wanted it? I want that power.”

He was silent for a long time. In the dim building, the fire snapped in the stove and the red light of it shone through the open door, reminding Jenny of the mirror and the spirit world she had seen. She shivered, and he lifted his head. Now shadows from the threatening storm were hiding Joseph's eyes.

“Jenny,” he said slowly, while she peered at him. “I believe you are serious; but let me ask you some questions. You mentioned the talisman. I've told you I'd renounced the craft. No longer do I get my power from this source. It is through the church and the promise given to the priesthood that I now know power. Are you unaware that the promise of the priesthood is only for men and, through them, their wives?”

“I don't understand the priesthood, I've heard little about it. Seems no one knows enough to talk about it now.”

“That's good. Most of the details haven't yet been revealed. It shall be soon. I'm waiting for my people to purify themselves through the ordinances; then the Lord has promised the fullness of the gospel will be given.”

“But, power!” Her voice broke. “Joseph, the need is destroying me. How long can a person take the promise without the fulfillment? I tremble with fear of my inadequacy. Please—”

“Don't push. There's nothing I can do unless you meet the requirements of the gospel. Have you prepared yourself by reading the Scriptures? Are you paying your tithing, doing your part to build up the Saints?”

“I . . . I don't know. There's much I don't know right now.”

“I suggest you become a learner. I've plans to have some of the older women teach the younger all the ordinances of the faith. Until we can do this, just do your work at home.”

“What do you mean?”

Joseph took a deep breath and reached for her hand. “Jenny, your husband is as nearly apostate as I can tolerate. He's always given me a difficult time. Without disclosing the details of our talk, my instruction to you is that you win him to the church by your saintly life. This is very important. Without a husband to take you to the highest degree of heaven, you'll never receive the power on this earth, never be more than a slave in the hereafter.”

It was snowing hard when Jenny left the store, but she was so deep in thought that she was unconscious of the wet, cold flakes against her face. She was also unaware of Mark dismounting and walking toward the store just as she hurried away.

Looking after her retreating back, he frowned and faced Joseph. “That was Jenny. Why was she here?”

“Mark, remember, I'm Jenny's spiritual advisor. Why else would she be here? I've told her to pull up tight the reins around home and in time she will inherit all the blessings of the Lord, which she so desperately longs for.”

For a moment he frowned at Mark and then he clapped him on the shoulder. “Come in and tell me what you've been able to come up with in Carthage.”

****

Mark reached the livery stable just as Jenny stepped back in her buggy. Tom was beside her, and Mark handed the reins of his mount to him. “Old Nell's had enough for the day. Put her up for the night. I'll drive Jenny home.”

Jenny slid over and Mark said, “Your nose is like a cherry already, and we've nearly five miles to go. Why did you venture out in such a storm?”

“There were only a few flakes when I left—besides, I was taking your advice. I was sick of my own company.”

“Did Joseph give you some good
advice
?” He stressed the word slightly and Jenny glanced up at him. She frowned, and Mark was instantly sorry. He settled into his overcoat and reached for the lap robe.

He was still berating himself for allowing his jealousy to show as he tucked the robe around Jenny. “Now, let's see how fast this rig will move,” he said lightly.

He flicked the reins across the back of the mare and headed through Nauvoo. Glancing at Jenny he saw the faint smile on her lips and felt that twinge again. Was it related to the angry scene he had interrupted in Joseph's office this morning?

Jenny turned her head toward him and asked, “Did you have a good trip to Carthage?”

He shook his head. “So Joseph told you. Actually, I could see no reason to have gone. The fellow I was to contact has been out of the state for a month. His business partner looked at me as if I were slightly deranged when I asked after him.” He was silent, thinking again about the confrontation between the two men that morning. Those words had capped all the ugly rumors he had been hearing. He knew a confrontation with Joseph was fast approaching.

Mark shot another glance at Jenny. The faint smile was still on her lips. “You look pleased,” he stated. “That must mean
your
meeting went well.”