Morning Star by Marian Wells

vision of Sally, assured and confident. “Jen,” he said impatiently, “why is it you can never be satisfied with anything?”
    â€œIt goes deeper than being satisfied. I suppose I’m just tired of being a nothing.”
    Tom’s eyes widened. “Married to one of the most important men in town outside Joseph and his twelve, and she calls it nothing.”
    â€œIt’s how I feel.” Now the new thought came. Jenny contemplated the visions of Joseph. “Maybe,” she said slowly, “I need to go talk religion with Joseph.”
    Tom frowned again. “Meaning?” His eyes were watchful.
    â€œMeaning, I can’t spend all my time with the sewing circle or at Sally’s. Meaning, sometimes I have serious thoughts in my head.”
    She knew he was still watching her as she headed down the street toward Joseph’s office. Her heart was heavy as she contemplated the lonely figure of her brother—silent, faithful, undemanding. She couldn’t help wondering whether he ever had experienced this brooding need to split through the seams of life and discover something for himself.
    Unexpectedly, her latest discovery burst into her mind and she shivered. Would autumn’s terrible vision ever leave her? Again she murmured, “I’m through with the craft forever.” The familiar discontent settled upon her. All the spirit-world’s promises of power and knowledge had come to naught. Except for the bid for higher status offered only through the dreaded sabbat, she had tried every trick of the craft, and still she was only weak Jenny.
    As Jenny approached Joseph’s store, she began to wonder how she would win an audience with the Prophet alone. Surely Mark—or at least some of the twelve—would be with him.
    She hesitated at the bottom of the long flight of stairs stretching up the exterior brick wall of the store. She was self-conscious, aware that every eye on the street would take stock of Jenny Cartwright going to Joseph’s office. “And every Saint in town will be chewing over Jenny, wondering what problem has sent her running to the Prophet for advice.” Jenny abruptly decided she needed a bit of cloth to stitch.
    Joseph was inside, in his shirt sleeves, stocking shelves as casually as a junior clerk. When he noticed her he said, “Mark’s gone to Carthage for me. Business. You could buy a ham or a nice new plow while you are here.”
    After greeting him she lowered her voice. “Joseph, it’s you I must see.”
    His hands slowed among the boxes and rolls of twine. She nearly squirmed under the questions in his eyes, the faint smile. “I need advice. Joseph, it’s important. There’s no other place to go.”
    â€œHave you seen Dr. Bennett? Surely he can help you out.”
    â€œWhat? Joseph, not medical. I want to talk about the craft and—religion.”
    He frowned, then his face cleared in a smile. “Then wait by the stove.” He jerked his head toward the women in the store. “They’ll soon be gone.”
    When the store was empty, he came back to her. Sitting down on the bench beside her, he clasped his hands and leaned forward. “Jenny, my dear, what seems to be the problem?”
    She backed away, too conscious of the small space between them and the warmth of him reaching through her chill. Caught by the significance, she frowned in annoyance. For a moment she studied his face, wondering again at the magnetism of this man. His smile was encouraging.
    â€œJoseph,” she groped for a beginning. “Do you still have the talisman?”
    â€œYes, but I’m wise this time; I’ll not take it out for you to see.”
    â€œI’d forgotten that,” she said, and his grin flashed, underscoring the lie while she blushed. “Joseph, I didn’t forget. I just didn’t want you getting the best of me right off.”
    â€œRight