The Wishing Star

by Marian Wells

  Tom leaned on his pitchfork. “Do you know anything about using the rods?”

  “Naw, but old man Smith can tell you about them if you want to know. He’s been usin’ them for years.”

  “Findin’ treasure?” Jenny asked eagerly.

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Depends on who you talk to.”

  “Jenny!” Mrs. Harris called and Jenny scooted for the house.

  Martin Harris watched her go and said, “For a little ’un, your sister’s sure interested in diggin’, isn’t she?”

  Tom nodded soberly and went back to pitching straw. “Yeah. She’s so little it’s hard to take her serious. Is it possible for young’uns to get caught up in the craft?”

  “Willard Chase’s sister did. She has a green glass seer stone she uses all the time.” Harris paused and then added, “I wouldn’t be a-discouragin’ it. Never know, she might really get the power.”

  That evening after Jenny had finished the dishes, she went upstairs and dug the green book out of the cubbyhole where she had hidden it. Studying the cover, she stroked it thoughtfully. She pondered about the strange uneasiness she had been sensing in church. She needed something, and she must reach for it, but the reaching couldn’t be done with her bare hands.

  As she thumbed through the book, she began to wonder—could it have anything to do with the power Hyrum had talked about it? She recalled Martin Harris’s excitement, talking about the Gold Bible Company. Surely that didn’t have anything to do with the black Bible the solemn-faced man at church read before he started to talk.

  She sighed deeply and rubbed her eyes. Questions—the world was full of unanswered ones. Did Pa’s book hold the answers for any? Could this green book give her the mysterious power it seemed to promise?

  Mrs. Harris was still downstairs by the fire—maybe she would know.

  Jenny crept down the stairs cautiously, Pa’s stolen green book in her hand. As she reached the landing, the last stair creaked, and Mrs. Harris’s head, bent over her worn leather Bible, snapped up with a start.

  “Jenny, child!” she laughed. “You nearly did this old heart in! I thought you’d been asleep by now.”

  “I—I knew you were still up,” Jenny stammered. “And—well, there’s something I want to ask you.”

  “Come, sit, child.” Mrs. Harris patted the footstool near her rocker and motioned Jenny nearer the fire. “What you got there?” She reached for the book, and Jenny pulled back.

  “It’s—was—my pa’s.” Jenny faltered, then her desperate curiosity overcame her. “I been readin’ in it some, and I don’t understand it all, but it talks about gettin’ power—like Mr. Harris and Joe Smith are tryin’ to do—” She gasped for a breath, then went on before Mrs. Harris could interject a word. “An’ like the parson talks about on Sundays, and—” Jenny stopped, astonished at her own boldness. “Mrs. Harris,” she plunged, “this black Bible of yours and this book—do they say the same, about gettin’ the power, I mean?”

  Mrs. Harris reached for the green book and gently pried Jenny’s fingers from the spine. She winced slightly as she looked at the cover, then fingered the gold design thoughtfully.

  “Jenny,” she began, “I ain’t much of a reader, and I’ll confess I ain’t read this book, but I know what’s in it—least, I know what it’s about.” She handed the book back to Jenny. “An’ I know something of that Joe Smith.”

  She paused. “Child,” she sighed, “remember me tellin’ you that there’s only one truth, but there’s lots of powers?”

  Jenny nodded slowly.

  “This here,” she raised the black book that lay in her lap, “holds both—the truth and the power. That ’un,” she pointed to the green book crushed against Jenny’s chest, “that book may tell you about some power, but it won’t tell you the truth.”

  Jenny pondered this before she spoke. “Mrs. Harris,” she drew out her words slowly, deliberately, “what is the truth?”

  Mrs. Harris smiled faintly. “Somebody else asked that same question, child, a long time ago. An’ the answer he got is the same one you’ll come to someday. Truth ain’t an idea, or even a way to get power. It’s a person—Jesus, who died on the cross to save us all.”

  “From sin?” Jenny interjected anxiously, remembering the parson’s sermons, seeing the strange wild glint in Joe Smith’s eyes, feeling the stolen book burning against her arms and chest.

  “From sin,” Mrs. Harris agreed, “and from yourself. From greed and the burnin’ for wealth and power like Joe Smith’s got; from the stubbornness of doin’ things your own way like my Martin’s got . . .”

  “Power,” whispered Jenny. She turned her full attention to the firelit face of the mistress. “Mrs. Harris, my ma said this book is evil, but she didn’t say why. The little man at the book shop said the power in it is from the devil. Is power evil? Is it?”

  Lucy Harris’s eyes were hidden in the shadows as her hands fingered the worn pages of the Bible. When she looked again at Jenny, a single tear had left a trail down her cheek, glistening in the light of the dying fire.

  “Jenny,” she began, “the only lastin’ power lies in the truth. There may be power in the spells told about in your pa’s book, or in Joe’s seer stone and divinin’ rods. But the real power to be had don’t come through such tricks. It comes through faith, through God.”

  Jenny went to bed restless, disturbed by her conversation with Mrs. Harris. Faith seemed an awfully slow, awfully uncertain way of getting the power. And it didn’t seem to offer much in the way of benefit for the here and now. Pa’s book and Joe’s stone promised a more immediate fulfillment—and it was easier to come by, too. The right words, a sword, some blood from a goat or a lamb, and a person could have riches and power, served up by the spirits like the rich folks’ Christmas goose!

  But what if Mrs. Harris is right? Jenny shivered at the thought. If it really does matter where the power comes from—

  Jenny’s thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the stairs.

  She sat up in bed, straining to hear. Only one familiar snore was coming from down the hall. When the creaking stopped, she slipped from her bed and knelt beside the window.

  Twin shadows left the barn and moved down the road. Bright moonlight clearly revealed the progress of the two until they disappeared over the hill. Jenny continued to kneel at the window, thinking of the section in the book about moonlit nights. There was unusual power on these nights.

  She fidgeted, rubbed at her tumbled hair, then jumped to her feet. Shoving aside the scary nighttime feelings and the echoes of her discussion with Mrs. Harris, she pulled on her clothes and crept down the stairs.

  At the door she paused, but not long enough to heed her fears, then flew down the road after the men.

  In the darkness of the woods, the road disappeared and the moonlight vanished. Groping with her hands before her, Jenny crept forward. Now excitement had her heart pounding. She moved from tree to tree, stopping to listen at each one.

  When she heard the clank of metal and saw the bobbing light, she moved off the trail and slipped behind the group.

  The lantern revealed Tom, Mr. Harris, and a dark man wrapped in a long black cloak. There were others, but she had eyes only for the cloaked figure.

  Spellbound, she watched, certain this must be the man they called Walters the Magician. He was reading from a book. She strained to hear, but his words were an indistinct rumble of sound. As she watched his black-draped arms arching through the air, punctuating his words, she shivered, and a strange thrill moved over her.

  The lantern light flashed off a sword, and Jenny crept closer. It was Hyrum. Joseph stood by holding a flapping rooster.

  Carefully easing into the bushes, Jenny watched. Hyrum drew the circle, making the familiar marks. Restlessly she rubbed her hands together. If only, just once, they’d let me be part of the group.

  After Joe spread the blood from the rooster, they all began to dig. The chill of the late night made Jenny shiver,
and she hugged herself. Would the rooster turn the trick this time?

  Silently, through the long night, they dug, while Jenny watched with growing frustration. Finally Martin Harris threw down his shovel in disgust.

  They turned and walked back the way they had come, and only then did Jenny realize the east was brightening. She forced her numb legs to carry her down the trail. Dazed and disappointed, she didn’t need to remind herself there had been no shouts of triumph to interrupt the black night. As she ran, tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. “Joe,” she whispered, “you taught me all this. Why don’t you fellas let me try?”

  I am certain of one thing, she thought. I am going to read that book and find the power.

  But Jenny’s feet slowed as she remembered Mrs. Harris and the words the parson had read at church. Suddenly she was filled with a certainty that she should not read the book anymore.

  As Jenny hesitated in the path, the sun burst through the trees. She lifted her chin and shrugged. It’s just a book. And if it teaches me the power, what harm can there be?

  When she opened the door to the kitchen, she discovered Martin Harris shouting for his breakfast, his anger breaking through every word his wife uttered. One quick glance at the gloomy faces sealed Jenny’s silence, and she crept unnoticed about the room.

  In September the rumors started flying. For several days there had been whispers at school. But Jenny had heard whispers before. This time she ignored them.

  At lunchtime one day, she carried her pail down to the creek to join the students under the trees. As she reached them, the conversation stopped. Jenny saw the shared looks and was ready to turn away when one of the older girls called, “Jenny, wait!”

  The girl’s apologetic look swept through the group and she said, “She’s living at the Harrises and he’s been friendly with the Smiths; maybe she can tell us about it.” Turning back to Jenny she asked, “Have you seen the gold plates?”

  Jenny settled to the ground and crossed her legs. “Gold plates,” she said with a frown. She flipped her braids over her shoulders and pushed hair out of her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “I guess everybody thought you were in on it because of Harris. People know he’s friendly with Joe.”

  Jenny recalled what Mrs. Harris had told them, and thought briefly of Lucy’s response. “What about gold plates?” she asked slowly as she concentrated on prying the lid off her lunch pail.

  Mary Beth, the oldest girl at school, settled down beside Jenny. “They’re saying the Smiths have circulated a story about Joe finding a bunch of genuine gold plates with writing all over them.”

  “Well, why don’t you ask one of Joe’s sisters instead of me?” Jenny questioned with a frown.

  “There hasn’t been a one of the Smith bunch in school since the story started making the rounds.”

  Now Cindy, Mary Beth’s best friend, scooted close to Jenny and added, “Joe is saying he found them in a stone box along with a sword and a breastplate and some spectacles to translate the writing on the plates. He’s calling the spectacles the magic ‘Urim and Thummim.’ I guess like in the Bible. Least the parson talked about such.”

  “They say Joe’s getting set to translate the plates. There’s trouble brewing ’cause he won’t let a soul see them. He’s claiming folks’ll die if they do,” Elizabeth said.

  “Some of the fellas are mad because he promised to share the money with them, and now they’re saying he won’t even let them see what he has. But he’s sure got something,” Cindy continued. “Even his family owns they’ve seen something all done up tight in a piece of cloth.”

  After school that afternoon, Jenny walked slowly home. There were chores waiting, but she was thinking hard. Not since she had heard about Joe getting married had she returned to the Smiths. A sore spot still twinged in her heart whenever she thought of him. Now she clenched her fists and muttered, “Joe, I hate you for marryin’ that gal. Didn’t you guess you were mine? And I hate you, prissy missy, for daring to run off with him.”

  Jenny’s hands relaxed. Her curiosity was bigger than her hate. Quickly she turned and ran down the trail that ended at the Smith farm.

  Despite her bravery, she was relieved to discover only Lucy Smith at home that afternoon. Once settled in the gloomy cabin, across the table from Lucy Smith, she studied the woman. From her knot of graying hair to her button-bright eyes and curving shoulders, excitement possessed her. Jenny said, “I hear Joe’s found a gold book.”

  Lucy leaned close to Jenny. “Oh my, he has! We’ve known for a time that it was to be. Joe’s been workin’ the stone and the charms, tryin’ to get past the spirits a-guardin’ the whole lot. It’s been hard work and he’s suffered much in order to get them.”

  “Did you see them?”

  “Oh, no. Joe said he was instructed that no man could see the plates with his naked eyes and live. That’s part of the reason he was given these funny spectacles. They’re diamonds set in glass held together with bows, like regular ones. They’re to be used to translate words on the plates.”

  “Is it a story written on them?”

  “No. Joe says it’s a history of the ancient people who lived here many years ago.” Now she chuckled and patted Jenny’s knee. “Just be patient and wait. Sooner or later you’ll all be seein’ them. I aim to exhibit them when Joe’s all through translatin’. I’ll be chargin’ a price to see them, but after all the work, that’s only fair.”

  One afternoon in late autumn, Jenny came in from school to find Martin Harris pacing the kitchen floor. She stood just inside the door, looking from his excited face to Mrs. Harris at the table. Her hands lay idle in the apple peelings, as she studied the knife she held.

  Jenny glanced at Mr. Harris as he said, “Here I was just a-walkin’ down the street when he came up to me. Proud, kinglike he was. He says, ‘Martin, the Lord told me to ask the first honest man I met for money to get me to Harmony to get along with the translatin’ of the gold plates.’”

  Lucy Harris looked up at him in dismay, and he circled back to her in his pacing. “Quit thinkin’ about the fifty dollars! Wife, I fear for your soul if you can’t trust when a man says the Lord’s directin’ him. You know I’ve been searchin’ for the truth all my life.”

  Jenny watched Mrs. Harris open her mouth as if to speak. Then she got to her feet, slowly, as if she had been hoeing in the garden all day.

  When Martin turned to Jenny, she found the courage to say, “At school they’re talkin’. Said Joe Smith found a book.”

  “The gold plates,” Mr. Harris said reverently. “All that diggin’ paid off. Yonder up the hill he found ’em.”

  On Sunday at church, Lucy Smith was the center of attention. Jenny elbowed her way through the crowd and listened as someone asked, “Mrs. Smith, what do the plates look like?”

  “Well, Joe’s not showin’ them yet, but he did let me see the things that came with ’em. There’s magic spectacles like diamonds. They are just like three-cornered diamonds set in glass and the glass set in silver bows. They’re for readin’ the plates. With them was a breastplate, big enough to fit a good-sized man. The whole thing was worth at least five hundred dollars.”

  Amid appreciative murmurs, Lucy continued, “The plates, they’re gold. Like leaves of a regular Bible they are, only gold. I ’spect we’ll be a-makin’ a pile of money off this find. Joe’s goin’ to translate the plates and then I’ll be a-showin’ them. Figure I can charge twenty-five cents for a peek.”

  Later when Jenny started home, she passed a group talking on the street corner. Peter Ingersoll was speaking, and she waited to hear him.

  “Well, judge for yourself,” he was saying. “I met Joe walkin’ toward home one day, carryin’ something all wrapped up in his jacket. Didn’t think too much about it all until a couple of days later; then he told me he had carried home some pretty white sand. His folks were all a-sittin’ round the dinner table, he said, and they were a-wantin’
to know what he had. Said he happened to think about a story he’d heard of a fella in Canada who claimed he found a book containing the history of the original settlers. He called it a gold Bible. So Joe says when they asked him, the words jest popped out, ‘gold Bible.’ He was just funnin’, but they took him serious.

  “So when they wanted to see the thing, he said they could go ahead and look, but he’d had a commandment sayin’ that no man could look at it with the naked eye and live. Not a one of them would look at it. Then Joe slapped his knee and told me he had them all fixed and he intended to be havin’ some fun with them.”

  Peter paused and Jenny stared up into his face. He frowned and slowly said, “This whole affair might be going too far. Chase here had dealin’s with him, too.”

  “Right,” the man beside Peter spoke up. “Joe come to me and asked me to make a carryin’ case for his plates. I told him I didn’t have time. I heard later that he told one of the neighbors he didn’t have any book of gold plates and that he never did have, but he was just tryin’ to trick me into makin’ him a chest.”

  When Jenny was back in the Harris’s kitchen, Mr. Harris was saying, “I’ve never seen such jealousy. Every man in the place is wishin’ he’d been the one to find the plates. Now they’re all a-tryin’ to make off with them. Seems some fellas are claimin’ Joe made promises and that he owes them shares in the plates. He’s been sweatin’ it out tryin’ to keep a step ahead of them.”

  “What do you mean?” Jenny stepped up to the table.

  “Well, Willard Chase’s sister used her little green stone to divine up where Joe had hid the plates. ’Twas across the street from the Smiths’ in the cobbler’s shop. During the night a bunch got in the place and tore it up lookin’ for the plates. They found the chest and split it open, but there weren’t nothin’ in it. That Joe’s a cool one. While the others were all hot about the plates being stole, he admitted he got up durin’ the night and moved the plates. You’d better believe no one will outwit that fella!”