The Wishing Star (8 page)

“I'm still scared,” she whispered to herself, “of that glitter in Joe's eye when he talks about the spirits, and of the pictures in Pa's green witchin' book. But—” she paused, taking a deep breath, “I'm not goin' to be a baby about it anymore. If there's power to be had, spirit power to change the way things are, then I'll find it—no matter what!”

Chapter 6

Summer leaves were turning yellow and drying around the edges when the Timmons' covered wagon creaked down the main street of Manchester, New York.

From the eldest to the youngest, they were silent and slack-jawed as the marvels of the town unfolded before them. When the wagon had nearly reached the end of the main street, Nancy recovered enough to say, “Jen, I don't know where you got your information about the West, but this town is
bonny
; I could stay here forever!”

“'Tain't the West,” Pa muttered, gawking about with the rest of them, “but it's gonna have to do for now. I'm 'bout tuckered out.”

Jenny's attention snapped back to the wagon, and she looked from her bleary-eyed father to her mother leaning against the wagon seat. The sight of her drawn face and swollen stomach tightened the fearful knot in Jenny's throat. Just for a moment, as she glanced at her father, anger surged through her. Quickly she turned her face before he could see the feelings that were becoming harder to hide.

Nancy touched her mother's shoulder. “It's far enough for now. Ma's not feeling up to another mile.”

Jenny spoke slowly, trying to control the hope in her voice. “There's a school, and that's some kind of a big mill ahead. Pa, if we were to stay here, we could all go to school—even Matty's old enough now. Maybe—” She couldn't say
job
and
work
and
money
, but the thoughts were there. He frowned, glancing at her mother, and hauled back on the reins.

Tom finally tipped the balance in favor of staying on in Manchester. Pa had stopped the wagon beside the livery stable to wait for him—herding the milk cow kept Tom lagging far behind the wagon.

When he finally caught up, the pleased smile on his face slowly turned into a frown of concern as he looked at his mother, but his words were for his father. “The fella down the street asked me if we were stayin'. He says there's a place over two streets for let. Man at the livery stable owns it. He's lookin' for a hand. Name's Harris. I'm of a mind to see what he'll offer.”

Before nightfall, the Timmons were moved into the small log cabin on a shady street. The cow and the crate of chickens were settled in the makeshift barn. While Tom and Jenny unloaded the wagon, Nancy swept a season's litter of dead leaves and dust out the door.

Later Tom straightened the sagging stovepipe and started a fire in the little stove. Now Jenny watched Pa. He was hesitating in the doorway and she wondered what excuse he would find. He finally said, “I'm of a mind to mosey on down the street and see if I can find a piece of glass for that broken window.” Ma bit her lip and turned away.

Before she could stop them, Jenny said the words Ma had given up on: “We can get along without glass for right now. Why don't you just get some bread at that baker's shop and stay clear of the tavern.”

His mouth gaped with astonishment, and Jenny brushed past him. Her impulsive words had startled her beyond fear. Maybe they had startled him beyond response. Jenny, stiff with remembered pain, waited for the blow that didn't come.

When Pa disappeared down the street, Tom turned to Jenny. “Your smart talk ain't usin' good sense.”

Ma added, “Jen, don't be rilin' him. It just makes it worse.” Jenny stared up at her mother, still unable to admit ownership of the words that had burst from her lips. Nancy clutched the broom, and Tom frowned.

Slowly Ma sat down on the chair Tom placed for her, saying, “Jenny, your sass ain't makin' life easier for any of us. What's got into you, child?”

****

Very soon, while the golden days of autumn were still warm and before the crystal ice began lining the streams, Ma felt stronger and was out getting acquainted. Jenny and Nancy took turns going with her. Wrapped in her old black shawl to hide her bulging abdomen, though it was sometimes warm enough to bead perspiration on her lip, Ma slowly strolled down the streets and investigated every shop.

One day when it was Jenny's turn to walk with Ma, she noted her flushed face and said, “Ma, I'll carry the shawl.”

Ma's face flushed even brighter. “Lands no, child. With a family this size, I don't want to be pitied afore I even know my neighbors.”

Jenny remained quiet, thinking new thoughts about being poor and having a pa like they had. She looked curiously at Ma, trying to see her as the neighbors would see her, but she couldn't get past the rusty old shawl and the faded calico squeezed tight over her body. Tired eyes were always ready to beg the pardon of the nearest person. Today she wore a timid smile, half in hiding until called upon.

When they stopped at the first gate, Ma hesitated, waiting for the woman sweeping her steps to look up. She was studying the neat house, and the frock the woman wore. Jenny knew Ma was calculating her chances of finding sewing. She also knew Ma was getting ready to pick at the woman's thoughts. Jenny remembered from the past that Ma would come home with a pocketful of facts. Like Matt collecting his marbles, she examined each one and carefully guarded it.

While Ma leaned over the fence and talked, Jenny noted how the apple tree bent under the load of shiny red apples. Her quick eyes took in the row of marigolds along the garden path. With another part of her mind, Jenny was admiring the way Ma was picking her store of facts from the woman, neat and quick—
like apples off that tree
, Jenny noted.

The woman said, “Camp meeting? My, but we've had them. There's one scheduled before the end of the month.” She turned to wave her hand. “Over yonder there's a clearing, just the other side of the meetinghouse. Already they're fixing up a brush arbor. Don't know the fella's name who's coming. Don't matter much. People will either come to hear them all or they won't come to hear a one.”

She turned back, leaning on her broom. “Me, I like them all. Gives a body something to do. My family's grown so's there's not much to keep me busy.” Jenny saw her eyes move over the bulging black shawl.

Jenny pushed closer to the fence and said, “I'm goin' to school this fall; they're talkin' at recess time about some of the going's on. A bunch went to Sodus Bay to see the Shakers. It sounded like a fun time, watchin' the dancin' around and such. The big girls were whisperin' and laughin', but they wouldn't tell me why.”

Ma's face flushed as they walked toward the shops. “Jen,” she remonstrated as they hurried on, “you don't go makin' fun of religion when you don't know how a body believes.”

“Does it matter how a body believes?” Jenny asked. “‘Sides, I didn't know I was makin' fun. It was just strange. Lettie was talkin' about some of the other going's on. She says that last year the schoolteacher, his name's John Samuel Thompson, had a vision. He told folks he saw Christ and he talked to Him. Another fella said there's a man over in Amsterdam, New York, who'd talked with God and was told every denomination of Christians is corrupt, and two-thirds of all the people livin' on the earth are about to be destroyed.”

Ma shivered, then said firmly, “One thing's certain. Now that we're livin' in a town where there's a sizable church and the circuit riders get around regular like, we're goin' to be gettin' ourselves into church.” Her voice dropped nearly to a whisper as she said, “Your pa don't cotton to gettin' salvation, but he was raised to know better.”

Jenny was still wondering about “getting salvation” two weeks later as the evening of the first revival meeting approached. It seemed everyone in town was going. They talked about it at school and even Pa and Tom had promised Ma they would go.

That first evening, the sun was dropping behind the trees when the people started across town to the clearing behind the church. The Timmons joined the crowd, carrying shawls and quilts to pad the rough benches.

As they took their places, Jenny saw a black-coated man wearing a somber expression. Another man carried a shiny horn. When the man began to play the horn and the people began to sing, Jenny poked her mother and asked, pointing, “What's that?”

“The mourners' bench; now hush and don't ask questions. You'll see all soon enough.”

After the singing, Jenny watched the somber-faced man open the black book, brace his feet, and lean toward the audience. When quietness stretched to the edges of the clearing and the only sound was raspy breathing and the chirping of crickets, the man began to speak.

He was holding the book high, but he didn't look at it. The words rolled from his tongue like music. “‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' ‘For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.' ‘For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: not of works, lest any man should boast.'”

Jenny leaned across her mother, “
Grace
, that's pretty, isn't it? If you get a little girl, please name her Grace.”

“Shush!” Ma's hand covered Jenny's mouth and her eyes were stern. Jenny was soon lost in contemplation as her mind drifted from one unfamiliar word to another.

The images these new words evoked were ethereal and meaningless, but she noticed their impact on those around her.

When Ma first began to tremble and Pa shuffled restlessly, Jenny sensed the mood of the crowd and the mounting tension. Often enough she had heard Pa say “hell,” but now the man up front was wrapping the word in smoke and fire while the audience stirred uneasily.

Day after day the camp meetings went on and the tension in the town continued to build. Emotions were unleashed that varied from fear to joy, sorrow to happiness. And while the man with the book built pictures in Jenny's mind and poured the word-music over her, she saw Pa tremble and eventually refuse to accompany them to the meetings. She saw Nancy walk down the path to the mourners' bench and watched the tight sullen expression on Tom's face.

Suddenly the meetings were over, the leaves dropped from the trees, and ice skimmed the water pail. Warm emotions disappeared like autumn, and life returned to being ice-rimmed and cold.

And while Jenny was still frowning over it and trying to understand all she had seen and heard, there was now a settling back into the same old patterns.

The neighbor down the way, Mrs. Barfield, explained it all. Her marigolds were now black nubs, and both apples and leaves had disappeared from the tree. She said, with a touch of discontent in her voice. “Just like always. Expectation greater than the goods delivered. Them men talk with a great deal of steam, like kneeling there in the sawdust is the greatest thing ever happened to a body. Seems those kneeling think so too—for about a week or so. Then life's back to normal except for a few who try to go around convertin' the rest of us, just like we didn't really get converted in the first place.

“It's too bad the excitement don't last. That's what we're wanting. Oh, well, long as we escape hell, I guess that's all that matters. The preachers come around often enough to take care of the seekers. Seems it would be nicer, though, if the excitement would just last the winter.” She shivered. Hesitating before she turned back to her house, she added, “Now, take them Shakers and some of those strange religions springing up all over the country. I don't cotton to them. There's too much in the name of religion that isn't. But, somehow, they end up makin' the rest of us decent folks wish we could share some of what enthuses them . . . people. I guess we're never happy.”

****

The little rented house behind the livery stable now had the new baby; then Pa landed a job.

In the evenings after school, Jenny rocked the cradle and reflected that it was just as well little James was fretful. It kept her busy and seemed to ease her own restlessness a little, besides allowing her to read from time to time. Life at home was easier, now that Pa was working at the blast furnace. He seemed to be more content with himself and didn't take his frustration out on her.

Jenny, Nancy, Dorcas, and Matt were going to school. Tom was working at the livery stable, and Ma was sewing for some of the ladies they had met at church.

As Nancy had said, Manchester was a goodly town. It boasted pleasant homes on tree-lined streets, shops, a school, and—to Jenny the most important thing of all—there was a library. The town also had a woolen mill, a flour mill, and a paper mill, as well as the blast furnace where Pa worked.

On Sundays, the people donned their best clothes and paraded through the village on their way to the Presbyterian church. That is, most did. Tom didn't, and Pa didn't. And Jenny rebelled. “Jenny,” Tom asked, “what's got into you?”

She felt the same kind of discontent that Mrs. Barfield had talked about, but Jenny saw it differently than Ma did. “It's not fair,” she protested, “the one day I have to read, Ma makes me go to church.”

She could have said it was boring, but she kept her silence while Ma talked about reading the Bible and Pa nodded his head in agreement. Jenny was separated, standing apart in her mind, knowing they would never understand. Even Nancy and Dorcas were lined up with serious faces and puckered frowns. To Jenny, the glance Ma threw at them seemed like a pat of approval.

Later, Tom repeated his question with a furrowed brow. He was milking the cow, and Jenny was pitching straw down to the pigpen. “Jen, what's got into you?” Jenny turned to look at him. The thoughts from Pa's green book stirred in her, and his question made the words burst from her. “Tom, aren't you hankerin' for more than this?”