The Wishing Star Read Online Free Page A

beyond her, shining as if he knew secrets. “Jenny,” he whispered, “there’s power out there to be had by the ones who know how to get it. Joe knows some of those things, and I intend to find out.”
    â€œMa says there’s secret things, but they’re bad. Tom, Ma shivered when she said that, and I could tell she was mighty scared.”
    Tom turned to look at Jenny, and his eyes were very serious. “If that’s so, why doesn’t she make you stay away from that green book of Pa’s? She says if you must read, read that black one. But then she turns her back when you get Pa’s book. I say she’s scared, but she knows where the power is.” His eyes were big again, staring past her.
    â€œTom, you best be listenin’ to Ma.” But he wasn’t listening, and she tugged at his shirt. “Ma says everybody thinks diggin’ will get him rich if he can just find a mine or treasure, but she says people dig and dig and never find a thing. She says a body needs to quit foolin’ himself and settle down to pluggin’ away for a living.” By the time Jenny had delivered her speech they had reached home, and Tom went grinning on his way.
    Jenny suspected he was proud of himself because he’d let her run on like a scolding mother. Suddenly the weight of her heavy thoughts slid away, and she was filled with a bubbling-up, running-over affection for Tom. Sometimes he was more like a friend than a brother.
    When Jenny entered the cabin her father was asleep, sprawled across the bed with his mouth open. This was real life. Sometimes she needed to be reminded that make-believe wasn’t real. She turned her face away to hide the fearful feelings that churned inside her.
    Ma was at the table, bending over a pile of bright, new cloth. She lifted her face. “I’ve a dress finished for Mrs. Harper. I want you to carry it to her; we’re needin’ the money.” She snipped at the thread. “Mighty uppity she’s gettin’, needin’ somebody to do her sewin’ for her. Last summer she was just a peddler’s wife, common like the rest of us. Now she’s puttin’ on airs.—But never mind, we’re reapin’ well from her folly.”
    â€œFolly?” Jenny repeated, wondering what the word meant and why Ma used it on Mrs. Harper.
    â€œJust hush and take it. Wrap that torn sheet over it, so you don’t soil it.” As Jenny reached for the heap of flowered material, Ma turned and peered at her. “Just look at you,” she scolded. “Hair a mess and grubby clear to the elbows. Why can’t you be like Nancy? Seems I never have to fuss about her washin’ her face.”
    Listening to her mother scold, Jenny thought of her sister sitting at home with a bit of sewing while she hoed in the field or hired out to the Moores when they needed a hand to pitch fodder to the hogs. In the honesty of the afternoon she still had a clear picture in her mind: Prudence with blonde curls and fair skin standing beside Jenny, weather-chapped and browned.
    â€œI’m of a mind to grow plump and be delicate like Nancy and Prudence,” she stated, “but I can’t clean Mr. Moore’s hog pen and come out looking like a lady.”
    Ma nodded her head. “And kind he is to find ways to help you earn a few pennies,” she said with a sigh, touching Jenny lightly on the cheek. “You earn your keep; like as not Nancy will too with her needle. And like as not one of these days, you’ll cease chasing after chickens and boys and take up the needle.” She turned back to her sewing. “Now, brush your hair afore you go. Don’t forget to fetch the money home safe.”
    Jenny brushed her hair, wrapped the dress in a scrap of clean sheeting, and pulled her mother’s shawl across her shoulders.
    The day had been sharp with the hint of the winter to come, and now—all too soon, it