Morning Star
Page 14
Blinking, Jenny looked around, “Did you say—”
“I said, come here.”
Thrusting her hand into her pocket she felt the medal burning against her skin. Slowly she began backing toward the door. The knowledge of what she must do was there—not accepted or questioned, just there. She must rid herself of the talisman if she were ever to be free of Joseph’s power over her.
The rocking chair creaked. She looked at Joseph, just beginning to push himself up out of the chair.
Jenny had just put her hand on the doorjamb when she saw the chair slip backward on her polished floor, flying out from under the surprised prophet. One second she hesitated; then she ran.
She threw herself over the pasture fence, sobbing as she streaked across the pasture toward the trees. Only one thought filled her mind. The talisman—get rid of the talisman! From where had that thought appeared?
The dark trees edging the bluff were coming close. She ran into them, feeling their branches snatch at her hair as their roots tripped. Jenny flew on, only guessing Joseph would be behind her.
Nearly fainting now, Jenny reached the edge of the bluff and felt the wind tear at her as she gasped for breath. Far below was the surging water of the inlet. For a moment, as dizziness swept over her, Jenny braced herself against a tree, groping in her pocket with trembling fingers. The talisman. She felt the hot, burning link and knew what she must do.
Taking a quick step to the tall bank, Jenny raised her arm to throw the talisman. “Jenny!” She knew his call. She hesitated. Again his voice echoed off the trees, coming nearer. Quickly she spun, and immediately the earth gave way.
She felt the swoop of air. Trees spiraled past; grass, water, and then sunshot sky. The cold shock of water took her, swirling her downward.
She was engulfed in a flood of purple. As the water broke over her, she saw the chalice, tipping, throwing purple wine over her body.
Chapter 17
Jenny heard his voice before she opened her eyes, saying, “Like a shooting star she came over the bluff, whirling with that black hair streaming out. How she ever managed to hit the one deep spot in the river, I’ll never know. Could have been the rocks.”
A woman’s voice answered him, and Jenny opened her eyes. There was a giant’s wet boots and britches planted beside her and a white-haired woman kneeling over her. The woman said, “Why, you’re Mark Cartwright’s wife.”
Jenny tried to speak and choked. The whole of the giant emerged. He knelt and rolled her over. “Get that water out.” When he helped her into a sitting position, she met his worried blue eyes and saw a question in their depths.
“A miracle!” he added. “There’s rocks along the river. A miracle Pa and I were fishing.” Now she saw the old gentleman hovering in the background—Mr. Daniels.
He stepped forward and she saw the same troubled question. She was still wondering about their expression when Mrs. Daniels said, “Lands, child, you’re shivering!”
“And this morning is hotter ’n blazes.” Jenny could only nod at the giant as he lifted her to her feet. “Ken ya walk or shall I pack ya?”
“Walk,” she managed; taking a deep, choking breath, she set her feet to follow Mrs. Daniels. In the cabin, beside the remnants of the breakfast fire, Jenny dried herself. She donned the cotton dress belonging to the little woman moving around the kitchen, and then Jenny sat down to watch her.
Shaking her head, Mrs. Daniels was stirring up the fire and caring for Jenny’s clothing as she talked. “‘Twere a miracle. I heard the splash and the menfolk yelling.” She paused to cast that questioning look at Jenny.
With a sigh Jenny started her explanation. “I was running, in this heat, dizzy. I had something in my hand and I was trying to throw it in the river. I slipped,” she finished lamely.
Mrs. Daniels had been reheating the breakfast coffee and she carried a cup to Jenny. With the first sip, Jenny’s stomach went into immediate revolt. She jumped to her feet and fled to the door.
When she returned, dizzy and trembling, Mrs. Daniels led her to the bedroom. “You caught?” she asked as she wiped Jenny’s face.
Jenny puzzled over the strange statement and finally pushed herself upright. Mrs. Daniels was saying, “Could be because you’re not used to coffee.”
“Could be,” Jenny murmured, remembering the smell; then she asked, “What do you mean, caught?”
“With a young’un,” Mrs. Daniels said, sounding as surprised as Jenny was feeling.
“A baby! After all these years!” She grasped Mrs. Daniels’ arm. “Could it be? We’ve been married six years and we’ve given up hoping. Could it?”
Mrs. Daniels’ face relaxed and she was smiling back at Jenny. “Could be cause for being dizzy, too. Now you just lie back and rest a time. The menfolk had to take the milk into town, but I suspect they’ll be looking for your husband without being told.”
Jenny’s excitement withered. Dully she said, “He’s gone.” Then she rallied. “But if it’s so, then I’m not really alone. Oh, I can hardly believe it! If only he’d come soon,” she added wistfully.
Late that afternoon the young giant took her home. For a minute, considering the events leading up to that plunge over the bluff, Jenny longingly considered the invitation to stay. But there was only the loft where the giant, Alson, slept, and the tiny bedroom where she had rested.
As the wagon rumbled down her own lane, Jenny found herself glad for the long afternoon shadows. Joseph would be at home with his family.
When Alson lifted her from the wagon and said, “Ma’am, those cows and pigs are needing attention. I’d be happy to oblige you.”
“Oh, would you? I am still shaky. And if you’d care for the job, I’ll hire you to do the chores until Tom returns.”
He nodded with a pleased grin. “I’m obliged.”
When Jenny entered the kitchen, she immediately noticed the rocker upside-down. For a moment she hesitated in the doorway while the words and the emotions of the morning tumbled through her. Guilt surged over her as she recalled her strange, unwilling response to Joseph.
Frowning now, she righted the chair and sat down. Why the guilt, if this is God’s will for me?
No answer came, and it was late when Jenny left the rocking chair and went to lock the doors and close the curtains against the night.
During the past lonesome nights, Jenny had formed the habit of murmuring a chant against evil as she went about the evening ritual of preparing for bed. Tonight the words began to slip easily from her lips. “God of light, protector of the hearth, spread circles of power—”
Abruptly she stopped. She was in the parlor, looking down at the table where her Bible lay. Would there be more power if she were to find words from it to recite each evening? The scenes from the morning flashed across her memory. With a shiver she picked up the Book and carried it into the kitchen.
She placed the lighted lamp on the table and bent over the Book. Her fingers were hesitant, unsure as they turned pages, first one way and then the other.
One word caught her attention and her fingers found the beginning. Isaiah 8. She read slowly, “‘And when they shall say unto you, Seek unto them that have familiar spirits, . . . should not a people seek unto their God? . . . To the law and to the testimony: if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them.’” And farther down, the phrase, “‘ . . . and they shall be driven to darkness.’”
“Familiar spirits,” she murmured slowly, remembering there was talk of such in the green book—spirits sent to help those seeking power. For a moment another thought pricked her mind and then was gone. “Light, darkness,” she puzzled as she went up the stairs to bed.
The words were with her in the morning. Now she could look at the previous day and marvel.
The heat was still upon the Mississippi lowlands. Jenny saw it in the mists rising from the river to cloud the forest. Alson Daniels came; she heard the clank of his bucket.
When h
e left, she went out to gather from her garden; sharply conscious that busy barnyard sounds contrasted with her silent house. She washed the vegetables at the well and sat in the shade to eat them. Her stomach was in revolt again, but today she welcomed the sign. She also welcomed the tight frock and hugged herself with excitement.
“If only Mark would write!” she sighed. “I want so badly to tell him.” She stood bemused, drawing a memory picture of his face and painting it with delight. Suppose there were a letter at the post office right now? She nearly gave in to her impulse to go to town, then quickly changed her mind at the thought of a chance meeting with Joseph.
A plaintive cry came from the pasture, and Jenny went to lean across the fence. “Oh, you scamp,” she said with a sigh. The tiniest lamb had crawled through the pasture fence. Now he was bawling his fear from the dark forest side of the fence. “You baby,” she called, crawling over the fence and heading across the pasture. The remainder of the flock contentedly chewed their cud in the shade of the apple tree.
Jenny paused before jumping the creek. She was hearing the murmur of water washing over smooth stones. It was peaceful, all of it. Again she heaved a contented sigh and started after the lamb.
“Come, little scamp,” she called, stretching beseeching fingers through the fence. The pink mouth wailed his protest while his spindly legs wobbled. With a sigh of exasperation, Jenny went over the fence.
The woods were dim and cool. After pushing the lamb through the fence, she followed the creek into the trees.
The rock she selected was flat and inviting. Bracing her shoulders against a tree, Jenny settled back to listen to the brook and the birds. A tiny warm breeze touched her face; she closed her eyes against the flickering pattern of leaves, and the sounds grew faint.
When Jenny opened her eyes it seemed darker. Getting to her feet she stretched, surprised at the sense of well-being that enveloped her. Her dream had been filled with yesterday’s kaleidoscope of purple and silver.
Until the dream, she had forgotten the images of yesterday. Only now the memory surfaced, stamped upon her mind. Never would she forget that spiraling downward while purple light and flashing silver surrounded her.
Now settling back on the rock, she allowed the memory to flow through her, wondering at the meaning. “Purple—the church window. At the time I was baptized there was that window and the chalice and the wine.”
Suddenly, as if yesterday’s water swept over her, she intoned, “I baptize thee—” Jenny frowned. The words wouldn’t come. But there, as if caught in a balance scale, she recalled the baptism in Joseph’s church compared with that first baptism. There were no purple-shot images, no hint of a hovering just beyond her touch. She recalled only mud and river slime, and meaningless words.
Jenny got to her feet, still trying to remember that word and tie it to the fleeting impressions. She finally shrugged and turned away from the creek. As she bent to pick the graceful frond of fern at her feet, she heard, “Jenny.” It was the lilt of the wind. “Jenny.”
She turned and searched the dark shadows shifting with wind-born light. “Jenny!” The call was louder, insistent, and she looked beyond. A flash of red shone through the trees. Dropping the ferns, Jenny ran, not thinking, merely triggered by her deep need.
The shadows grew darker and Jenny slowed, picking her way through bushes and rocks. The figure in red was waiting on the next rise. “Adela!” Jenny called, and when she repeated the name, it was a scream of frenzy.
“Oh, how I’ve longed to see you!” Jenny stopped. Now pressing fingers against her forehead, she tried to remember why she must see Adela.
The woman moved, her smile familiar and warm. The same red chiffon floated softly about her figure, lifting with the breeze. Jenny took a step and hesitated.
Her words were stilted as she said, “You look so familiar in that old red dress, why—”
The lost words were before her. “That’s it. The name of Jesus. In the name of Jesus I was baptized.” She raised her delighted smile to Adela. “I was—” The red figure seemed to be retreating, dimming.
Jenny hurried forward, across the rocks, up the slope. Now sunlight slanted through the trees and she stopped. The light clearly outlined the scene before her. The red chiffon still swirled, the woman still smiled. Jenny blinked and passed her hands across her eyes.
The dress was the same, but those perfect features were sagging, twisting. Before her eyes, Adela became a wizened figure, fading, disappearing. Stunned, Jenny whispered, “Jesus.”
Then she was brought back to herself by a clap of thunder. In terror she listened to it growing, exploding, then rumbling away. While the air was still filled with the sharp odor of sulphur, the rain burst upon Jenny, and she ran.
In the days that followed, Jenny doubted the vision her memory periodically cast before her, but she didn’t forget running into the house, panting and crying. She also recalled groping through the storm-dimmed room until she found her Bible. And in the days that followed, she didn’t forget the comfort she felt simply from holding the Book.
Chapter 18
Over the dishpan Jenny murmured, “‘Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.’” She lifted the cups and watched the soap bubbles burst and disappear. “Adela said there were many ways to worship God. Why did she disappear like these bubbles?” The truth was clear, and Jenny could only whisper in awe, “Jesus.”
Very sober as she continued to wash dishes, Jenny pieced together in her mind all that she had refused to consider before. Did it matter that Adela was a familiar spirit? With a sigh Jenny said, “Yes, it does matter. I thought she was a friend. She was everything I admired—beautiful and strong.”
Jenny’s mind nudged her with another fact. Adela had power, and if she were a spirit instead of a real person, this meant the promise of power for herself was a lie—or was it? Could there be something she didn’t understand?
Jenny moved uneasily and stared out the window. Was power to order life beyond the scope of human beings? Immediately Jenny remembered the pressure Adela had used to get her to take the vows at sabbat. That oath, the blood in the chalice—even now they made her shiver. But there was another thought. Jenny whispered it to herself, her voice filled with awe. “I simply said the name of Jesus. I wasn’t even thinking of Adela—my head was full of baptism and purple light. I said ‘Jesus,’ and Adela disappeared.” Abruptly Jenny was trembling.
As soon as the kitchen was tidied, Jenny fled to the only comforting presence in the house, her Bible.
She read the Gospels, feeling as if she were looking over Jesus’ shoulder. With awe she watched and listened, as thirsty as the woman at the well.
Daily Jenny flew about her work and then settled to read, conscious only of her desperate need. But the reading was not without pain. There were hard words which caused days of uneasiness and questioning: sin, the wrath of God, judgment; believe, trust, the blood of Jesus.
In her silent house she brooded in isolation and then fled, desperate for companionship. One hot August day she took her light buggy to Sarah Pratt’s home.
As she let the mare amble down Sarah’s shady lane, Jenny was thinking the trees looked as limp as she felt. But then she had a reason. She grinned and flicked the reins.
Instead of taking the mare to the house, Jenny stopped the buggy in the shade of a tree and left the horse to graze. Just as Jenny reached the front door, she heard Sarah’s voice coming from the shady side yard and circled around the house.
Hearing a strange voice, she hesitated momentarily. Then, with a shrug she stepped forward just as the woman laughed and said, “Sarah, such outrage! Why do you make a fuss about a little gossip. Even if it isn’t true, people will speculate. Besides, you should consider it an honor. Why, I’ve been his mistress for four years now.”
Jenny gasped and as the women turned, said, “Oh, I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
Looking surprisingly relieved, Sarah hurried toward Jenny. Taking Jenny’s hand she said, “Do come sit in the shade. This is Lucinda Harris.”
While Jenny frowned, wondering why the face was familiar, Lucinda drawled, “Yes, I was in Far West while you were there. Seems we didn’t have time to get acquainted. I suppose I knew most everyone because we were part of the early settlement. Your husband is the attorney. Didn’t I hear that Joseph sent him to Washington to present another bill?” She turned to Sarah. “Do you suppose that’s where Joseph’s gone?”
Sarah shrugged and addressed Jenny. “I suppose you’ve heard the latest news, though it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
Jenny muttered, “I haven’t heard any news for ages. I’ve not even had a letter from Mark.”
“Oh,” Sarah added quickly. “Then you don’t know that Joseph’s disappeared. Don’t look so alarmed! It’s that Boggs affair.”
“If only he’d kept his mouth shut,” Lucinda said. “Coming out with his prophecy about Boggs being shot and then broadcasting his views hither and yonder when it did happen.”
“I’d heard about that,” Jenny replied.
“Well,” Sarah continued, “as you know, Boggs didn’t die. Now Governor Carlin’s issued a writ for Joseph’s and Porter Rockwell’s arrest.”
Lucinda’s smooth voice cut in. “The Nauvoo Charter came to the rescue again. They were released under a writ of habeas corpus and the city council stepped in and issued a new ordinance which required Nauvoo court to inquire into the validity of the writ.”
Sarah said, “Well, I know the charter was designed to help Joseph’s cause, that’s obvious, considering the trouble in Missouri. Somehow it doesn’t seem quite right. But by the time the sheriffs returned from seeing Carlin a second time, Joseph and Porter were both gone.”