Star Light, Star Bright

by Marian Wells

  He was leaning the planks against the wall beside the window. “I’m building shutters.” He began making marks on the log walls.

  Jenny watched another moment and then said, “I’d rather have them outside. They are terribly heavy, but hang them on the casing. It seems more fitting. Also, could we paint them blue?”

  When Mark turned, she saw him take a deep patient breath before he said, “Jenny, these shutters aren’t for beauty. They are to—to keep people out.”

  “Mark!”

  He rushed on before she could say more. “I was in Adam-ondi-Ahman yesterday long enough to hear some things that kept me awake most of the night. Jenny, there’s going to be trouble very soon. I don’t understand it all, but I’m making this place just as safe as possible. That window is big enough to let an army through. These shutters will at least slow them down.”

  Jenny blinked at Mark’s serious face, and all the silly, lighthearted words that had tumbled to her lips were forgotten.

  She watched the distant expression steal over his eyes. It was a look most apt to leave Jenny feeling left out, separated by unseen barriers. She whispered, “What is it, Mark? What are you thinking?”

  He looked at her in surprise, and as she watched the change in his eyes, she realized he didn’t recognize these times when his spirit fled away to an unknown place she couldn’t follow. She touched his arm, feeling the familiar warmth, very conscious of knowing the man but not the soul of him.

  She saw the caution, the hesitation, and then he said softly, “You really want to know? Jenny, can you—” He paused and walked a step away. When he turned to face her, his eyes were bright with an expression she couldn’t understand. Mute, she waited.

  “I was just thinking about homes, shelter. I suppose, back in the beginning, man’s initial need for shelter was against wild animals and for his family. Here I’m getting ready to put up shutters, not to keep out the wild animals, but my fellowman. Jenny, that ought not to be. Anywhere. But it seems to me that in the Lord’s Zion, it hadn’t ought to be at all. Aren’t you a mite disappointed in Zion?”

  Jenny reluctantly said, “Well, yes. But Mark, didn’t we have false hopes?”

  “What was your hope?”

  She spoke slowly, trying to pull deeply buried disappointments out to study them. “First, I suppose, since it’s the Lord’s place, and we are commanded to build it up, and we’ve all the revelations saying the land is ours and the wealth is ours, well—” She met his eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh, Mark, nothing is going right! It’s scary! Since we’ve been here, there’s more grumbling and fears than I’ve ever heard before in my life.”

  She stared at him silently, wanting to point at the fearful times in Kirtland just before Joseph had left. But Mark didn’t know about those times. Surely it wouldn’t do to mention it now. Also, it wasn’t possible to tell him about the dreadful need for power, because he wouldn’t approve of her power source.

  Now she spoke quickly, wanting only to divert Mark’s questions away from herself. “But you were thinking. What is it?”

  “I was comparing all this with what I’ve been learning about God.” Jenny moved impatiently and Mark spoke quickly, his voice sharp, “You’ve asked, and I think you need to hear me out. Jenny, I’ve been reading about a God of love, about a Savior named Jesus Christ who says if you love Me, prove it by your love for others. Where’s Joseph’s love? Why are the old-timers in the state—those Joseph sent out here in the early thirties to settle in Jackson County—saying that things were calming down and getting peaceful until Joseph came? Why were these same people content with life until he came? Jenny, I’m comparing my Bible with Joseph’s golden one, and I don’t like the difference. I fail to see where his gold book and his revelations have produced a holy people.” He turned to pace the floor and his voice was low. “Jenny, these people around us matter. It isn’t right to take their land and goods, to consign them to hell just because they disagree with us. Even Jesus Christ didn’t force people to accept Him, and He was God, with the holy mission of dying for our sins.”

  Jenny heard Mark’s words, but more than the words, she felt the impact of his expression: the sudden heavy lines twisting his face, the shadows in his eyes, the imploring hands that he lifted before shaking his head helplessly; Jenny saw clearly for one moment a strange darkness surrounding them.

  But his words were lost as she shivered and turned away. Briefly she felt as if a curtain had been lifted, and she didn’t like what she had seen. He whispered, “Jenny, forgive me. It’s a load you aren’t able to bear. The dear Lord himself wants me to restrain my hand.” She looked and he was holding out his arms. Because there was no place to flee, she ran into them. And in another moment she lifted her face. “Mark,” she whispered urgently, “please don’t repeat this—I don’t want you to be labeled a dissenter. That’s what you are when you talk like Joseph isn’t really a prophet from the Lord.”

  After breakfast, when the dishes had been washed and Mark was busy fastening heavy hinges to the wall, Jenny took her place beside him and reached for the screws. Trying desperately to forget his fearful words, with her voice low, she said, “Don’t you think you’d better tell me all you’ve heard?”

  When he turned to study her face, he said slowly, “I’ve been trying to think of some way to get out of the state without causing alarm among our neighbors or outrage in Joseph’s camp.”

  “Mark, we’ve been here only two and a half months!” Even as she spoke, she was hastily pushing Mark’s words and the black picture out of her mind. “How silly to give up before we’ve even tried to make a success of settling Zion. I know neither one of us is the adventuresome type, but, after all, the Prophet has said God commanded we settle and build up Zion.” Her voice was dreamy as she continued, “This is God’s kingdom; we will have power—”

  “Jenny, every once in a while you mention having power. I am growing curious; just what do you mean?”

  Jenny opened her eyes wide and looked at the frown on Mark’s face. For a moment she felt trapped. “Oh,” she said quickly, “it’s not political, it’s spiritual. Mark,” she added brightly, “at times I feel we’re miles apart spiritually.”

  “Yes,” he said slowly, “I feel the same way.” He turned back to his work.

  Jenny watched for a time before saying, “Besides, I love it here in our cozy cabin, away from the push of people. I like having you all to myself. I like nature and the quiet. It makes me come alive.”

  He turned to pinch her cheek, “You really are part owl, aren’t you?”

  “If you weren’t fearful for me, you’d stay, wouldn’t you?”

  Without answering her question, he said, “There were a bunch of strangers in town yesterday. Men I didn’t recognize. From the expressions on their faces, I don’t think they were interested in making my acquaintance.”

  When she remained silent, he added, “There are other things—rumbles, discontentment. You know the agreement between the Saints and the state of Missouri, set up to settle the Jackson problem. The stipulation was that the Mormons were to move to Caldwell County. Now Joseph’s strong-armed himself into this place, Daviess County. The old settlers around here are angry because of the large number of Saints emigrating into the area. I can’t say I blame them. The Gallatin situation, with the Missourians fighting our men when they came to vote, shows how fearful they are of the type of control Joseph has placed on the people.”

  “They’ll just have to learn to like it,” Jenny said impatiently. “I’m convinced, Mark, that Joseph is obeying the Lord.” She lifted her chin, and when he said nothing, she continued, “It’s His will that Joseph be leader in temporal as well as kingdom affairs.”

  “But in truth it’s going against the constitutional right of man to think and act for himself. That was the whole problem at Gallatin. The Missourians knew the Saints weren’t voting any conscience except Joseph’s.”

  “Mark, that is a harsh statement. You bes
t make certain that the walls haven’t ears to carry the news back to Joseph.”

  “And that, my dear wife, is precisely what I mean.” Mark turned away, shoulders hunched.

  Jenny stated, “You might as well say it. Agree or disagree, it’s better’n stewing over it. It didn’t take your conversation with Tom to tell me we don’t see eye to eye.”

  “Jenny, let’s leave. I feel the Lord urging this on me.”

  She looked at him curiously for a moment before asking, “How can you say God is putting this on you when you know Joseph’ll object?” Mark’s long look was thoughtful. Jenny watched as he pressed his lips tightly together.

  He turned back to the shutters and she watched him work silently. When he finally turned with an exasperated sigh, she had guessed the problem. “They are too heavy for those hinges, aren’t they?”

  “Looks like I need to make another trip into Adam-ondi-Ahman for hinges.”

  “Oh, Mark, take me with you.” She saw his eyebrows raise at the unusual request. “I need thread, besides—”

  “I was going to ride Sammy. I suppose we could take the wagon.”

  “I don’t mind riding Patches,” Jenny protested.

  The memory of the look Mark gave her stayed with Jenny as they rode into the small village. He hadn’t questioned her, and Jenny couldn’t explain the need to push herself back into life and discover for herself just what was happening. It wasn’t that she doubted the stories she had been hearing, she insisted to herself as she hurried the mare along.

  “Adam-ondi-Ahman,” she murmured to herself as they entered town, “the place where Adam settled after being expelled from the garden.” It was different. From a pleasant village with Gentiles and Saints on nodding acquaintance, it had become a city of strangers.

  She noticed them immediately: the hard-faced men carrying guns. She also noticed the absence of women. Without the usual cluster of wives visiting in the door yards, the neighborly feeling was missing. Now she realized no children played in the streets.

  Mark dismounted in front of the general store, and Jenny slipped from her horse, handing the reins to him. “Mark,” she whispered, “Where are the families?”

  “I don’t know,” he murmured. “It wasn’t like this last week. Get your thread and stick close to me. I don’t like the feel of this.”

  Inside the store the proprietor, Ned Wilson, greeted them with a level stare. He filled Jenny’s order and when he turned to the back of the store after the hinges, Mark followed.

  “What’s going on?” Mark was speaking softly as he glanced Jenny’s direction.

  “Not much.” He hedged and then glanced at Mark with a worried frown. “You folks would be wise to stay on your own acres.” Wilson murmured, glancing around. “The rumors are flying and I don’t know which one to believe. God knows that most of us just want things to settle down. If you Mormons would just quit scratching the dust, it could happen. Right now everything you do gets the dander up.

  “There’s fellas moving in from all over the state. Rumor has it they’re tired of waiting for the state militia to settle the scrappin’; and they’re scared that if they don’t take things into their own hands, you Mormons will run them outta the state before the year’s out.”

  Jenny waited beside the long counter heaped with a jumble of tools, nails, and kitchen utensils. She noticed that the hooks which had held hams were empty, as was the flour bin and the barrel which had brimmed with dried beans just a month ago.

  Just as she glanced at Mark and Ned Wilson, wondering whether she dared join them, a wagon creaked to a halt in front of the store. She moved to the open door as Moses Thornton stepped through. She smiled, and as she moved toward the man, a former neighbor from Kirtland, there was a rustle and a sharp voice behind her.

  Jenny turned as the woman swished through the store from the living quarters in the rear. She was wiping her hands as she took her place behind the counter and leaned toward Moses. “Just don’t you bother coming in here with your sad stories. We don’t want the likes of you around. You and the missus will just have to do your buying where you’re more welcome.”

  Moses’ voice matched hers in hardness. “Look, ma’am, my money’s just as good as the next fella’s even if he happens to be Gentile.” Jenny cringed at the contempt in his voice and turned away.

  “The likes of you can’t understand, can you?” There was scorn in her voice. “It isn’t the money; though the chances of its being counterfeit is bigger’n I want to take. The reason you Mormons can’t get a body willin’ to sell to you is because there’s a move to starve you outta the state. Now, what do you think of that?”

  Jenny watched Moses as he straightened and threw back his head. His lips curled as he said, “Ma’am I think you’re wastin’ your time. Through the Prophet, Joseph Smith, the land and all the riches of the Gentiles have been promised to us. There’s not one thing you can do to prevent the hand of the Lord, nor thwart His purposes.”

  Ned was standing beside his wife now. Jenny turned from listening to Moses, as Ned’s hand on his wife’s shoulder squeezed her into silence. His voice was heavy and loud. “The truth is, Thornton, there’s no goods to be had—food or materials.”

  He paused, “Truth is, you Saints have descended like a horde of grasshoppers and just about cleaned us outta everything.”

  Out in the dusty road beside the wagon, Moses said, “There’s news that the governor has begun to sit up and take notice of our cries for mercy.”

  Mark took a deep breath and Jenny knew he was getting ready to say hard things. She watched with interest as Mark carefully untied Sammy’s reins and just as carefully turned to the man. “Thornton, you weren’t in the state when the Jackson County problems took place. Governor Dunklin was negotiating a settlement which would have benefited the Saints. Joseph’s marching on Missouri with an army ruined all hopes for a peaceful settlement. Things aren’t much better now.

  “Through a grudging concession to the constitutional freedoms of every man, Governor Boggs is trying to be fair, even giving us an opportunity to settle the differences neighbor-like. I’d say we’re seeing the hands of the clock of Missouri’s patience just about to midnight.”

  Moses didn’t reply, but Jenny couldn’t help her outburst. “Mr. Thornton, can’t you see? You’re saying the same things those people did—that God’s on our side, not theirs. We know it’s so, but doesn’t faith mean we keep our mouths shut and wait for the Lord to dump the riches into our laps?”

  ****

  During the week that followed, Jenny and Mark continued to work around their acreage, improving and preparing for winter. They didn’t talk much about the things heavy on their minds. But as Jenny watched Mark fasten the last hinge to the shutters, she wondered if by not talking they were willing the problems to disappear.

  Mark was still working on the corral the day Jenny found her hands idle for the first time in weeks. After washing the dishes that noontime, she said to Mark, “I’m going to walk over the hill and visit the Durfees. I’ve promised nosey old Mrs. Durfee I would, and though I don’t like spending a beautiful day with her, I’ll keep my promises.”

  Mark’s eyes were twinkling, “’Tis a lesson, young lady. Don’t make promises you’ll regret.” Now the laughter faded from his eyes. “Jen, I worry. Don’t stay into the dusk.”

  “I won’t, my husband,” she murmured, standing on tiptoe to press her lips to his cheek.

  The way to the Durfee farm was a short walk downstream. Jenny chose to walk the river path instead of using the road. Avoiding the tangle of trees and bushes, Jenny climbed the high riverbank and was rewarded with a new view.

  At Durfees’, the older woman shoved the only chair close to the table before sitting down on the crude bench. Jenny threw aside her shawl and said, “The walk was wonderful—so warm I didn’t need my shawl. Have you taken the river path? I could see for miles. Who owns the little ferry I saw chugging across the river?”

 
“Lyman Wight. Take it you’ve been fording the river?” Jenny nodded and the woman continued. “He’s Joseph’s right-hand man when it comes to running the battle.”

  “You think we’ll be fighting?” Jenny asked slowly.

  “If Wight has his say.” The woman’s answer was smug and her expression complacent. “Right now Joseph’s got him moving his men into Adam-ondi-Ahman just as fast as the Gentiles can gather here.”

  Jenny shivered. “I’m beginning to wonder if we’re safe.”

  The woman shrugged. “We are. But I’m hearing things are getting worse in town every day. The women and children daren’t move outta their cabins, and food’s mighty short.”

  “Where’s Joseph?”

  The woman’s glance was sharp. She studied Jenny’s face for a moment before answering slowly. “Most likely he’s either still in Far West or moving this way. Could be he’s at the Ferry conferring with Wight. Why do you ask?”

  Jenny’s thoughts were on all the things churning around inside of her, all the things she needed desperately to say to Joseph now before it was too late. Abruptly she came back to the present. “I—I just need to talk to him.”

  “You and fifty other young ladies,” the woman said dryly. “Seems you could wait until the bad times are over and things are settling down for Zion.”

  Later, as Jenny walked homeward, she thought about the things Mrs. Durfee had intimated. “Me and fifty others!” she snorted. The classification rankled.

  Jenny thought back on her unique relationship with the Prophet, and then she smiled. What a long time it had been since she had locked horns with the man! She chuckled, suddenly wistfully aware of the lack in her life.

  It was Joseph the man she was missing. She thought back on all those scenes with him—the verbal sparring, the times when she had bested him when he’d tried to pressure her into line with the rest of the females in his camp. She snorted, “Relief Society, my eye! Namby-pamby women trotting along to obey the Prophet.”