Star Light, Star Bright

by Marian Wells

  “Little owl-eyes, don’t look so sober. This isn’t the end of the world, and we will be back. If you like your little cabin that much, we’ll return to stay forever.” Mark’s finger flicked the tears off Jenny’s cheeks before he bent to kiss her.

  “Oh, Mark,” she wrapped her arms around him and held him. “It’s just that I can’t understand all this. Why is it necessary we leave now?”

  “Because I trust your brother, even the things he doesn’t say. Now stop your fretting. We’ll be back soon. Pretend that all along we’ve planned this trip to visit my mother. We’ll have to do a little night travel to avoid causing offense to some of—of the militia.” He held her away to see her face.

  “Mark—” she studied his face and he tried to snuggle her against his shoulder again, lest she see the fear. She resisted him, and he faced the intensity of those gray eyes. Her next question surprised him. “Does it trouble you that because of me you must go, and that you aren’t able to fight with the other men?”

  Carefully he asked, “Why the questions?” She shook her head without answering, and he pushed her head under his chin and considered the question. “First of all, I’m not sold on fighting as a way to settle differences. Second, I think Joseph’s in the wrong. Third, I’m a follower of Jesus Christ, and He says love your enemies, pray for them, and turn the other cheek.” She fought away from his restraining arms. He was aware of resistance throughout her whole body. Again her eyes reminded him of an owl, a creature of the dark, with thought and feeling hidden away.

  He sighed and said, “I’m not convinced we’ll make it through with this buggy, but pack as much as you can in the way of food and clothing. Wrap the luggage in quilts. I intend to grease those wheels until they are completely soundless.” He saw her shiver as she turned away.

  With a heavy heart, Mark went out to the lean-to and gathered up his tools. He again felt that nudge reminding him time was fleeting. If only they had left a week ago when Tom had urged them to action!

  Dawn was just a smudge of color in the sky when Mark bundled Jenny into the crude buggy and turned his team down the trail toward Adam-ondi-Ahman.

  As they rode through the town, Jenny gasped with dismay. “Mark, it’s been such a short time since we were here, but look at the difference! Look at the trash lying about. It troubles me. And there’s scarcely a sign of a breakfast fire.”

  Mark had been aware of the forboding air of the town, but he said nothing as he studied the area, looking for signs of change. Someone was sweeping the steps of the general store—that was very ordinary. He recognized the owner, Wilson, a long-time resident, and a Gentile.

  As they passed, the man paused and leaned on his broom. “Good morning, Wilson,” Mark called. The man turned and headed back into his store.

  Jenny was shivering. “Don’t worry,” Mark said, “Silence doesn’t mean anything. Mormon sympathizers aren’t popular.”

  They continued on down the road toward Far West. The buggy wheels were nearly soundless, and the pleasant clop-clop of the mare’s hooves sounded reassuring, normal.

  It was nearly noon when they met the horsemen. Mark recognized several of them. Lyman Wight was leading the group, and Mark recalled hearing that the man owned the ferry on Grand River, just a short distance downstream. “Hello,” Mark called as they reined in their horses.

  Wight asked. “You’ve come from Adam-ondi-Ahman?” Mark nodded and Wight said, “Then you’ve probably seen the bunch with the cannon.”

  Mark felt Jenny’s grasp tighten. “I haven’t seen any group of men, let alone a group with a cannon. When we left town this morning the place seemed peaceful. Not many residents though—there was hardly a breakfast fire in the village.”

  The men rode on. Mark and Jenny continued south over the prairie, mulling over the terse statements the men had made. “So the Danites are going to rescue Daviess County from the DeWitt mob, which is moving this way pulling a cannon.”

  “Do you believe them?”

  “I believe they think they’ll find a cannon and a skirmish.” Jenny relaxed and smiled for the first time in two days. Mark leaned over to kiss her. “That’s my girl. Now let’s just concentrate on getting back to Ohio.”

  “Is there any way possible to avoid Far West?” Jenny asked.

  “Not that I know of, but if there’s anyone I dare ask, I will. Right now it would be nice to run into Tom.”

  Her face brightened, “Oh, would that be possible?”

  He chuckled, heartened by her mood swing. “In this state anything is possible.” Then he added slowly, “Particularly if they’re calling out the Danites to go to Adam-ondi-Ahman.”

  Within an hour they again heard the sound of approaching horsemen. Mark frowned. “Jenny, I don’t like this. These horses are coming too fast to be pulling a cannon; it’s more like they’re intent on catching up with the others.”

  “Let’s get off the road!” Jenny exclaimed. But Mark was shaking his head, and she realized it was too late. Across the prairie a cloud of dust was moving toward them. In all that expanse there was not one tree to shield them from sight.

  For a moment it seemed the troops would pass them by; but at the last moment there was a shout and the horses veered toward them. The man in front wore the fraying clothing of a farmer, but he carried himself like a general.

  Jenny watched him leave his men behind and canter forward. “Why, you’re Mark Cartwright!” the man exclaimed. “You don’t know me, but I heard about you, back Kirtland way. Name’s Lewis.”

  His expression was quizzical as he continued, “We’ve reason to believe a mob of Gentiles from DeWitt is headed up toward Daviess County, towing a cannon. They’re intending to run the Saints out of Daviess. Have you seen or heard of them?”

  Mark shook his head, “No, but just over an hour ago we met Wight and your men heading toward Grand River.” His voice became thoughtful as he said, “This is starting to look pretty serious.”

  Nodding, the man squinted down at Mark. “You best believe it. I suppose the word’s been spread and you’re headed for Far West.”

  Jenny chimed in, “Actually, we’re hoping to avoid Far West. Is there another road?”

  He was grinning at Mark. “Missus have the last word? Ma’am, orders is orders. Don’t try to talk him out of it. Don’t you worry your pretty little head. There’s plenty of company for you ladyfolks while the men are away.”

  There was a horse pressing through the troops behind Mark and Jenny, and then a familiar whinny. “Mark! Jenny!” Tom’s face peering around the buggy was filled with dismay. “You should have stayed at home,” he said carefully. “It isn’t safe with those cutthroats on the loose.”

  Jenny opened her mouth to question, but Mark’s hand squeezed hers tightly in an unmistakable message. Hastily he said, “Tom, I’m glad to see you. What’s going on in Far West?”

  “You mean Lewis here didn’t tell you? The Prophet’s called for all the men to assemble there.” His voice was level and deliberate as he informed them. “We understand nearly all the men in Caldwell County are heading there right now. They are called under arms.”

  Even Jenny caught the message. She shivered, saying with a glance at Lewis, “Then I guess that’s where we’ll be going.”

  Lewis gave Jenny a pitying look. Turning to Mark he said, “I see you aren’t fitted out for livin’ in your rig. Better head for my house. Tell the missus I sent you. We’ve a good-sized loft and are expectin’ to have it full by morning. Joseph’s going to have to build a hotel if he intends to keep up this kinda thing.”

  In the morning, after the two of them had spent a restless night tossing on a straw pallet spread in the Lewis cabin, Mark faced Jenny and whispered, “I’ve every intention of getting out of this if it is possible. I can’t believe Joseph will demand I fight. He knows how I feel about the whole affair. I’ll let him know our plans are to return to Ohio right now.”

  Jenny’s face brightened, but he saw her bite her lip
. “Mark, you have more confidence than I do. I hope you are right.”

  “I want you to stay here until you find out just what is going to happen. Last night I found Andy Morgan. He’s as reluctant to join this army as I am. He did say that Sally is alone and would welcome you. I’ve written the directions to their section; it isn’t difficult to find. If I must leave, go to Sally and stay there until this mess is over.” She stared up at him. His voice was flat and his eyes shadowed.

  Then she understood. Mark had no hopes of leaving. She clenched her hands behind her back; he mustn’t see them trembling.

  Later that morning when the two of them joined the crowd of men and women pressing toward the town square, Mark looked at the sky and murmured, “That sky is promising nothing good. If it were December instead of the fifteenth of October, I’d expect snow.” Jenny shivered in her shawl and decided that even snow couldn’t make her feel worse. Mark left her with the group of men and women standing on the gentle slope facing the town square. She looked around at the somber faces and reminded herself that these women were feeling the same misery she was experiencing. There were some she recognized from Kirtland days, but they seemed as disinclined to talk as she.

  Down below, in the crowd of men, there were a few excited voices; but for the most part only uneasy silence held the group as they waited for the Prophet to appear.

  When the women began to stir restlessly, Jenny stood on tiptoe, guessing there was something of interest happening on the square. Far down the street she spotted a group of men coming. It was easy to guess who the dark-coated figure was. Dressed in somber black, Joseph towered above the men around him.

  The pulse of the crowd quickened. By the time Joseph stood before them in the town square, the murmur of excitement had changed to a rumble, then a roar of welcome.

  His voice was quiet and controlled as he began to speak. Wearily he began cataloging the events and listing the offenses of the Missourians against the Saints. To all the people listening to him it was a familiar tale, and they shifted restlessly.

  Now his voice rose as he said, “We have heard from Governor Boggs in answer to our demand for relief.” His voice rose, “We innocent people have suffered at the hands of the citizens of this state. Misunderstood and abused until our souls are sick within us, we have petitioned only for peace and fairness at the hands of our enemies.”

  His hand trembled as he lifted a paper above his head. “And what is our answer from the governor?” He paused, and silence gripped the group. Sardonically he said, “Our governor has advised us to fight our own battles.” Leaning forward, he stated, “And that, my brethren, is just what we intend to do.”

  Amid the uproar, he continued, “We have tried to keep the law long enough. What has it gained us? It has been administered against us, never for us.”

  Over the cries of assent, Joseph raised his arm and with a shout said, “Hereafter, I do not intend to keep the law. We shall take affairs into our own hands and manage without Boggs or his laws.”

  When the roar of the crowd again subsided, he continued, “In DeWitt we yielded to the mob. Now they are heading for the homes of our people in Daviess County. I have determined that we shall not give another foot to them. No matter how many shall come against us, ten or a thousand of them, God will send His angels to our deliverance. We will be the victors, whether we fight one or a thousand of them.”

  Joseph started to move away, then with a grin he turned back. “There are those wondering how we shall supply the needs of our troops. Some will say I have told you to steal, but I have not. That isn’t necessary when you can get plenty without. In closing I will tell you about a Dutchman and his field of potatoes. A colonel with his men was quartered nearby, and going to the old man, he offered to buy the field of potatoes. The old Dutchman refused to sell. When the colonel returned to his regiment with the tale of woe, he stated, ‘Now remember, don’t let a man of you be caught stealing potatoes.’” Joseph paused and then added, “In the morning there wasn’t a potato in the patch.” There was a moment of silence and then a few chuckled. The relief from tension was contagious and the rumble of laughter grew.

  Joseph was still standing and waiting. From Jenny’s position she could see the change taking place on his face. The half-smile slid away, and as the excited babble increased, rage contorted his face. Leaning forward, he cried, “If only they would leave us alone! Then we could preach the gospel in peace. But if there’s an attempt to molest us, we shall establish our religion by the sword.”

  Sidney Rigdon stepped to the front and said, “We have a group of ‘Oh, don’t’ men in our midst. They are those who decry the order to support our right, saying, ‘You are breaking the law, you will bring ruin to the society.’

  “While others are fighting, these men are bringing division and disturbances to our midst. We must have unity. I say that blood must first run in the streets of Far West before we are worthy men to venture forth to fight the enemy. Is it fair for these Oh, don’t men to stay behind while their brothers risk their lives? Should these men attempt to leave the county, their lives shall be forfeited and their property confiscated. I say these men should be rounded up, pitched on their horses with bayonets and placed in front as you go to battle.” As Rigdon moved away, the crowd erupted in a frenzy of shouting.

  From where Jenny stood the next words were only cacophony, but as she watched, men separated into groups and moved among the assembly. She saw men singled out, and led off one by one. Frowning, Jenny tried to find meaning in the actions. When two men surrounded Mark and led him away, she clenched one fist against her mouth, the other against her pounding heart. The meaning was clear. Mark had been labeled an Oh don’t man.

  After the men had been lined up and marched away, the women began to move. Just as Jenny was doing, they staggered like sleep-walkers. There was an occasional sob as they picked their way over the rutted streets of Far West and headed for the warmth of the general store. But Jenny lingered behind. That dark-cloaked figure was still in the town square, talking to the cluster of excited men pressing close. She waited until he broke free and headed down the street.

  The sound of her feet pounding on the road made him turn. Staring up into his cold face, she could only stutter, “J—Joe, I—I must see you.”

  For a moment his face cleared, he nearly smiled. “Little Missus Cartwright,” he drawled. “If you’ve come to plead for your husband, don’t. We need every man we can get. Jenny, my beautiful dear, neither tears nor promises will get your heart’s desire. This is war.”

  He turned and moved away while Jenny stood stricken and trembling, first with anger and then with fear. When she had recovered, he had rounded the corner and disappeared.

  She whirled around. A young man standing just behind her was watching with a sympathetic smile. “Begging your pardon, but please don’t trouble the Prophet. Seems he’s wearied by all the women who think they have a special place—”

  “No, no!” Jenny cried impatiently. “I need to see Joseph. I have information he needs to hear.”

  The man’s expression was totally disbelieving, and she snapped, “Where’s the Prophet’s home?”

  He spoke slowly, still looking at her with doubting eyes, “He lives with the George Harris family. If you look yonder, right through those trees, you can see the chimney. But don’t expect to be seein’ him right away. He doesn’t have the time to spare.” Jenny turned away. For a few minutes longer she lingered in the square, wondering what to do.

  It was growing colder, and she rubbed her numb hands. Finally, with a sigh of frustration, she turned to follow the women to the store.

  Until evening, the group of chilled, pinched-face women lingered on in Far West. Huddled around the fire in the general store, they waited, only to hear that the men had been divided into companies. Jenny watched their misery as they paced before the fire. Later they heard the first company of horsemen had started on their way to Adam-ondi-Ahman.

  It
was Tuesday afternoon before Jenny gave up hope of seeing Mark sprinting across the town square toward the Lewis cabin, saying he had been released.

  Mrs. Lewis, sitting before the fire, knitting and keeping tabs on the affairs of Far West, said, “’Tis life, my dear. Go about your business just like the rest of us. You heard the Prophet. There’s no doubt about it; our men will be the victors, and soon this land of Zion will be free from the taint of the cursed ones.”

  Jenny’s hands were trembling and tears burned her eyelids as she unfolded the paper and read directions to Sally’s farm. At the end of the paper, Mark had written, I love you; remember, I’ll be back—we’ve promised.

  She closed her eyes, thinking back that long-ago time when he had pressed his lips against her hair. He had thought she didn’t hear the whispered, In sickness or in health, but she did, and her heart had added, ’Til death, I promise you.

  Jenny picked up the bag which had been packed for Ohio and went to the stable to find the awkward buggy Mark had designed from scraps of their wagon.

  It was dusk by the time Jenny followed the lamplight to Sally’s door. And Sally, with Tamara beside her, stood wide-eyed and pale, waiting to welcome her.

  Chapter 13

  That first day at Sally’s home, Jenny voiced her fears. She was drying the dishes as Sally washed. Slowly turning the cup in her hand, she said, “Sally, do you really believe Joseph’s prophecy?” She glanced at Sally’s face and protested, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a tattletale. I’m scared, and I just wish you’d make me feel better about all this.”

  “You’re just missing Mark,” Sally protested, but her eyes were on the dish she was holding, and Jenny was caught by the feebleness of her reply. Her heart sank. Sally was knowing the fears, too.

  Later beside the fire, with Sally cuddling Tamara on her lap, Jenny faced the pair. She pushed aside her uneasiness for a moment, thinking instead how much a miniature of her mother little Tamara was. As Jenny reached out to touch the child’s cheek, Sally glanced down at her daughter and said, “Too bad you haven’t produced a young’un; that’d help the time pass for you.” She sighed. “Jenny, I know it’s bad. I hate it all just as much as you, but dwelling on it and chewing over all the things we shouldn’t even been thinking about—well, that doesn’t help at all. Can’t you leave the fussin’ to the menfolk? It’ll all work out.”