Read Online The Wishing Star by Marian Wells - Free Book Online Page B

asked young Joe if he really could see money and all these wonderful treasures. He said Joe hesitated a bit and then said, ‘Between the two of us, I can’t see ’em any more than you or anybody else, but a body’s gotta make a living.’”
    Tom tugged at Jenny. “Let’s get along for home.” He turned down the street, Jenny trotting to keep up with his long strides. When they had left the town behind, Tom slowed and Jenny caught up with him.
    â€œDid you see that Mark Cartwright?” she asked breathlessly. “He was listenin’ to it all, and I don’t think he was agreein’.”
    â€œYou mean about Joe takin’ leg bail?” She nodded, and Tom said, “’Tis always that way. The rich can’t be sympathetic about the poor.”
    Jenny was pondering Tom’s words when they turned up the lane toward the Timmons’ shack. She looked at the yard, the litter, and the straggle of hens, and her impatience boiled over. Flying at the chickens roosting on the porch and plow and scattered firewood, she whipped her shawl from her shoulders and shouted, “Out, you silly things! You belong in the barn!”
    When she returned to Tom, he was watching her with a puckered frown on his face. “What’s got into you, girl? Take life as you find it, Jen. You’re a woman. That means you make no fuss. Remember your place in life. If you’re born to be poor, well then, be content with it.”
    â€œAnd be abidin’ this for the rest of my life? Tom, when I see people such as those fellas were, the justices and that Mark Cartwright, it makes me boil up inside—’specially when you talk like they’re way up high, beyond the reach of us common folk.”
    ****
    As March slipped into April, the mellowing of springtime moved through the southern part of New York State. Blossoms on the wild plum and apple, dandelions and tiny buttons of meadow flowers added their scent to the newness of grass in the pungent pastureland.
    Calves, black and white miniatures, took their places beside their placid mothers. Winter-stained flocks of sheep budded out with new white lambs. Spring rains blackened the woody branches of the trees along the pasture wall, and their halo of green seemed to bind everything together.
    Fingers of green moss outlined the northerly edges of the stone walls as if spring had an abundance of green to spare. When Jenny closed her eyes like two tiny slits, it seemed that the green, like paint, was dabbed everywhere.
    One by one the older boys had dropped out of school to take their places in the fields. Now the girls went to school with only the very young children. And during recess, Jenny had Mr. Searle all to herself. The request was always the same.
    Most often he would nod and point to the line of books on the shelf behind his desk, saying, “If you can’t sound them out, ask.” Jenny would choose a book and carry it back to her bench.
    By late afternoon Jenny would walk slowly homeward, her mind full of the words and pictures. For a short time the books had helped her forget the other troubles that nagged at her thoughts.
    Spring had brought a dark threat closer, one the Timmons family had felt all winter—Pa’s spring stirring, the yearly urge to move west. But the urge was stronger this year. And over all was the troubling knowledge that Ma would soon be birthing again.
    On the homeward walk Nancy talked about the West and Jenny thought with regret of all the books she hadn’t been able to read.
    â€œI hear it all,” she replied grudgingly to Nancy’s excitement. “But you forget the West is full of wild Injuns, with no stores or schools or books.” She stopped to slant a look at her older sister’s neat hair and patched dress.
    â€œI doubt you’ll ever have your dream of gettin’ rich and having new frocks.”
    Nancy stopped in the middle of the path. The