Moon Over Manifest Part 5

"I catch it on barbed wire. It is slow to heal."

That was putting it mildly. That sore, with its scabbing and yellow pus, looked to have gone from bad to worse and about another mile past that.

"If you tell me where another jar is, I'll fetch that for you and then I'll be on my way."

"There is no more. I gather the last of the hawthorn root near the cemetery last night. But I am sure there is more to be found elsewhere."

I looked outside at the scorching sun. "Maybe you haven't been outside lately, but there's not much growing around here. There's not enough water to fill a thimble."

"There is water. It remains deep and hidden, but there is always water."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know what my father knew. And his father before him. It is what diviners know."

"Your people are all fortune-tellers?" I hoped they were better at it than she was but I didn't say so.

"No. We are a family of diviners. We see and understand things most people overlook. We read the signs of the land."

"You mean like those hill people who walk around with a jiggly stick, thinking they can find underground wells?"

She made a guttural, scoffing sound. "Pah, what does one need with a stick? All one needs is eyes and ears. The earth speaks loud enough when it wants to be heard."

I was beginning to have no doubt that she heard things. The woman wasn't right in the head.

"All right, then. You have a nice day," I said, backing toward the door.

"I believe there is still a matter to be settled about my broken pot. It survives a boat ride all the way from Hungary and now it is in pieces." Hungary. That explained the accent.

I stood my ground. "Well, it wouldn't be broken if you hadn't taken my compa.s.s."

"Take your compa.s.s? I am out to gather hawthorn root and find something on my property. How am I to know it is yours?"

She had a point, I thought as she winced, rubbing her leg. I was surprised she could make it to the cemetery and back, but figured that was why her leg had swelled up so bad today.

"I'd offer to pay for the pot but I don't have that kind of money."

"Yes, it is worth much more than the coin you have remaining in your pocket."

The hair on the back of my neck p.r.i.c.kled. I didn't believe in fortune-tellers, but how had she pulled that one off?

"So," Miss Sadie said, knitting her fingers together, "it appears you have something I want and I have something you want." She said her w w's like v v's. You have something I vant and I have something you vant.

"You have my compa.s.s. But what could I have that you vant...I mean, want?"

"Two. Good. Legs," she said, punctuating each word.

I wasn't sure where this was going but I knew I wasn't going to like it.

"You will come here to do a few odd jobs."

Any job for her would be odd, I thought. But she had me over a barrel. I did break something of hers and I wanted my compa.s.s back.

"For how long?" I asked.

"You will know when you have finished."

She handed back the letter I'd given her, and suddenly, I found myself heading toward the front door. I stopped short. There, just inside, was my compa.s.s, hanging on a single nail, daring me to take it. I gave it a strong look but knew I'd broken her pot and needed to make rest.i.tution. I marched down her rickety steps, a bead of sweat already trickling its way down my back. Curiosity had set in.

I ran back to Shady's place, clomped up the wooden steps to my room, and reached under the floorboard for the Lucky Bill cigar box. Dumping the contents onto the bed, I found the fis.h.i.+ng lure I hadn't paid much attention to. The words from Miss Sadie's story came back to me as I looked at the fancy green and yellow spotted lure. The underside of the lure, in pretty gold lettering, read WIGGLE KING-SO COLORFUL IT'LL CATCH A BLIND FISH WIGGLE KING-SO COLORFUL IT'LL CATCH A BLIND FISH.

At that moment I wished I'd never set foot on the Path to Perdition.

Likely Suspects

MAY 30, 1936.

I lay in bed the next morning, feeling mightily burdened. Something had been gnawing at me all night. It was Gideon. Where did he fit into all this? How was he connected to this town? To these people? Manifest was the place he'd chosen to send me to, and yet it didn't seem like he'd even been there. Did he know Ned or Jinx? Did anyone know him? I wasn't even sure that I did. lay in bed the next morning, feeling mightily burdened. Something had been gnawing at me all night. It was Gideon. Where did he fit into all this? How was he connected to this town? To these people? Manifest was the place he'd chosen to send me to, and yet it didn't seem like he'd even been there. Did he know Ned or Jinx? Did anyone know him? I wasn't even sure that I did.

Now, there was a thought. What did I know about Gideon? What did I think people should know about him? I started a list in my head. He always walked like he knew where he was going. He was a better cook than Shady. He tucked the blanket up under my chin when he thought I was asleep.

I stretched out in the warmth of my bed and pulled the blanket up to my chin. Let's see Let's see, I thought. He was smart. Not so much book smart, even though he did know all forty-eight states and capitals and and all the presidents from Was.h.i.+ngton to Roosevelt. No, Gideon was more "living by your wits" smart. He had once turned a bunch of wildflowers into a twenty-dollar bill. Some might have said that wasn't smart, that was magic. Not the way Gideon had done it. all the presidents from Was.h.i.+ngton to Roosevelt. No, Gideon was more "living by your wits" smart. He had once turned a bunch of wildflowers into a twenty-dollar bill. Some might have said that wasn't smart, that was magic. Not the way Gideon had done it.

He'd gathered up a nice bunch of wildflowers and traded them for a sewing kit in Decatur, then, in Fort Wayne, swapped that for a camera, which he raffled off at a church picnic in South Bend. Chances were twenty-five cents apiece or five for a dollar. He ended up with seven dollars and fifty cents and bought us a tandem bicycle. But our behinds were so sore by Kalamazoo that he sold it for a twenty-dollar bill to a man with twin grandkids.

I remembered all these things about Gideon, but I couldn't remember if he'd said the words or if I'd only imagined them. Those words I'm coming back for you I'm coming back for you.

Memories were like suns.h.i.+ne. They warmed you up and left a pleasant glow, but you couldn't hold them.

I'd have to do some divining of my own, I thought as I rolled over. There was the Wiggle King fis.h.i.+ng lure, sitting on the windowsill, where I'd left it the night before. I should have put it back in the cigar box, but somehow it had separated itself from the rest of the items. It had become different. Special. And it needed a special place.

There was a welcome breeze blowing through the open window. I was no stranger to hard work, but the thought of being cooped up in Miss Sadie's Divining Parlor left me feeling a bit short of breath. Maybe I could busy myself helping Shady and wouldn't have to go.

There was a plan. I'd saunter downstairs and make myself so useful Shady couldn't possibly see fit to allow me to walk out the door, let alone to do someone else's bidding. I figured Shady might be feeling a little down in the mouth that day. He'd held his church service the night before, followed by a potluck, but it turned out to be more of a "down on your luck," as only one person showed up. A fellow with a week-old beard and a hole in his hat brought a can of beans.

I hopped out of bed, put on my overalls, and headed down the narrow wooden stairs.

"Good morning, Shady," I said, ready to sit down to a plate of his usual warm, slightly burnt biscuits and mola.s.ses. Shady stashed something under the bar and mumbled words I didn't catch. When he looked up, I could see that his eyes were kind of bloodshot and his whiskers hadn't been shaved since the day before. The bottle on the shelf behind the bar was still full, but I supposed it was like any craving. If a person liked cookies, he was going to keep more than one at hand. When Shady went back to the stove for my breakfast, I leaned across the counter and peered behind it, but there was only a chipped coffee cup holding a couple of nickels and a b.u.t.ton. Was it Shady's drink money? Alcohol was against the law then as much as it was in 1917, but folks could usually get a bottle of the stuff here or there. I didn't know if bootleggers would take b.u.t.tons for payment along with nickels.

I scooted back to my barstool as Shady came in, presenting me with a plate of cold, more than slightly burnt biscuits and half a leathery pork chop. I knew that times were hard, so I didn't complain, but my stomach couldn't help its moaning and groaning. Hattie Mae had brought by some delicious fried chicken the day before, but that was a distant memory. I bit into a hard biscuit, hoping I had enough spit to soften it up. But just then, Shady brought me a cold gla.s.s of milk. I nearly drank it down in one gulp and he poured me another gla.s.s. It filled my stomach nicely, but in my head I made plans to go by the newspaper office later to see if Hattie Mae had any leftovers.

"I thought maybe you could use some help around here," I said to Shady, wiping off my milk mustache. "I do laundering and mending. I'm even good with a hammer and nail."

He scratched his whiskery face, making a sound like sandpaper on rough wood. "Well, that's awful nice of you to offer. But I'm feeling a little spent this morning and need a bit of a lie down. Besides, Miss Sadie'll be expecting you," he said.

I choked a little on the biscuit brick, wondering how Shady knew of my ill-conceived agreement with the diviner, when he went over to a box in the corner of the room and pulled out a wire-bristle brush, one glove, a half-full bag of chewing tobacco, and a cracked mirror.

Then his eyes lit up and he said, "There you are." He pulled out a long coil of rope and proceeded to tie a large knot at each end. He gave the rope a good tug, testing its worth, and presented it to me. "Every little girl needs a skipping rope," he said with a smile as he replaced the odds and ends and hauled the junk box out back.

I held the rope in my hands and felt a stinging in my eyes. I didn't really think of myself as a little girl anymore, but I smiled. "I had a skipping rope once," I said when he returned. "It was in Tennessee, and I was using it to pull a wagon full of firewood. I guess I loaded too much wood in it, because the rope broke in two. I've always wished I could do that over. I wouldn't have carried such a heavy load."

"Seems to me you've been carrying a heavy load for some time." Shady's eyes looked like deep watery pools. "Besides, everyone deserves a do-over. Now you've got yours." He smiled.

I smiled back, feeling the rough and bristly rope. It was like Shady. He had his rough edges but he was strong and steady. I guessed I'd better fess up about the diviner, since that cat was out of the bag anyway.

"About last night...I lost my compa.s.s again the other day, and had to go see about getting it back."

"Mm-hmm. Miss Sadie told me. I take a little milk over to her on my way back from town a couple times a week. Did you two have a nice visit?"

"If you mean did she tell my fortune, no, she did not. She just carried on a bit, jingling and jangling, telling me an old story about a couple boys who lived here a long time ago." I kind of liked having the letters and mementos mostly to myself, so I decided to keep those a secret. "But I broke her pot and now I have to go back to work it off."

Shady had perked up a bit. "She told you about a couple of boys?"

"Yeah, and some trouble they got into with the Klan with some poison ivy and such. Ned and Jinx. Did you know them?"

Shady occupied himself by scrubbing down the bar top. "I did."

That gnawing feeling came back to me and I worked up my nerve. "Shady?"

"Yes, Abilene."

"Do you think Gideon knew those two boys? Did he have many friends when he was here? Did he ever go fis.h.i.+ng with anyone or swimming in the creek?" My questions and my need to know came out in a rush.

"Well, now." Shady rubbed the back of his neck. "Let me see. I'm sure your daddy did most things boys do. Swim, fish, cause havoc." He worked at a stubborn spot on the counter but I caught him catching a glimpse of me. "Didn't he tell you much about when he was here?"

"Yes, he told me lots of things. He said there was a man who drove a cart around town and brought fresh milk to people's doorsteps. And ladies who'd walk down the street in white gloves and fancy hats with big feathers sticking way up. But it's like he was telling things you'd notice from the tree house. Storefronts and activity, people going here and there, but only what you could see from a distance. Nothing up close. Why, I only heard about you a few weeks ago. Did he write to you at all?"

Shady paused and his shoulders looked heavy. "A postcard now and then. Sometimes, when folks move on, it's hard to look back. It's not their fault. We knew he wandered a bit after he left here, but then we got word that he had a little girl, and we knew he'd take good care of you."

I did warm a little at that but I wasn't ready to be done grumbling. I stuck my chin on my fists. "Well, Gideon's telling of Manifest was nothing like Miss Sadie's. Her story was full of names and faces and who did what where. I learned more about Manifest in one sitting with her than from all of Gideon's stories put together," I grumped. But I still hadn't learned anything about Gideon.

Shady looked up, and with the sun gleaming in through the stained gla.s.s, he looked like he was having a revelation.

"Yes, that Miss Sadie sure can weave a story. I bet she could fill in some of the missing pieces."

I don't know if Shady would've said more, but he looked relieved to hear a jingle at the door.

Lettie and Ruthanne poked their heads in. "Hey, Abilene?" Then, remembering their manners, they added, "Good morning, Shady."

"Good morning," he answered. "Would you girls care for a gla.s.s of b.u.t.termilk?"

"Yes, please," Lettie and Ruthanne answered together.

Shady went into the back room and Lettie whispered, "First we have to sell some eggs in town. Then we can work on the Rattler mystery. We've made a list of suspects. Mr. Cooper, the barber. Mr. Koski at the diner. Hattie Mae."

"Hattie Mae?" I whispered back. The nice newspaper lady? The nice newspaper lady? "Surely you don't think she's the Rattler?" "Surely you don't think she's the Rattler?"

"Well, not really, but she's got a sweet tooth and she'll probably give us a licorice whip or some jelly beans if we stop by. But we'll start with Mr. DeVore, the postmaster."

Mention of Hattie Mae made me think of something. "Wait a minute. I need to run back upstairs." I went up and thumbed through the newspapers I'd selected from Hattie Mae's office. I found her column in both and gave each a quick look-see. It was the one from October 11 that rang a bell. I carefully tore it out and made a point to take another look through Hattie Mae's old newspapers later.

As I went back downstairs, Shady was pouring the b.u.t.termilk. "What are you girls up to today?"

"Uh, we're doing some corporal works of mercy. Mr. DeVore needs visiting."

"Oh, he does? Is he sick?"

"Sick?" Ruthanne pondered the question. "I guess you could say that. If you consider loneliness a sickness. Who wouldn't be? Spending all day sorting everybody else's letters from dear ones far and near and never having a loving word sent your way."

Shady looked like he'd been given more answer than he'd asked for. "Well, you be sure to give him my regards. Tell him we missed him at last night's service and we'd be pleased to have him come next week at the same time." He reached behind the bar, where he'd stashed something earlier, and took out that something wrapped in a brown paper bag. "Good day, girls," he said as he left.

There was an awkward silence as I thought about what might be in that bag. Then Ruthanne said, "Come on, Abilene. Finish up and let's go."

"Can't," I said before was.h.i.+ng down the last of my biscuit with some b.u.t.termilk.

"Why not?" asked Lettie.

I handed her the October 11 "Hattie Mae News Auxiliary." The paper was a little wet from my sweaty hand. "I got a debt to work off."

HATTIE MAE'S NEWS AUXILIARYOCTOBER 11, 1917I hope all of you are having a festive and convivial fall. With the autumnal surrogation to winter and the Thanksgiving holiday quickly ascending upon us, I find myself reminiscing to mind the many blessings and bestowments of the past.I suppose having matriculated to my nineteenth year has provided me with a depth of insight which I am only beginning to excavate.My ruminations were particularly profound at church last Sunday when Pastor Mankins illuminated us all. His words of purging our souls of anger and hatred were so taken to heart by some that they rose out of their seats, just itching to praise the Lord. Buster Holt and Elroy Knabb were so moved they fairly fled the service afterward to spread the Word. In my rovings about town, I've learned that the same two gentlemen have been frequent patrons at the drugstore. They didn't say so, but I gathered they were putting together supplies for the missions. I had no idea there was such a need for calamine lotion among the indigent, but that selfless act of charity will be forever embalmed on my mind.I regret there will be no "Hattie Mae's News Auxiliary" next week, as I will be visiting my aunt Mavis. I was tickled pink last week with the birthday gift she sent all the way from Jefferson City. A thesaurus is a commodious tool for any reporter.So, for all the whos, whats, whys, whens, and wheres, refer to the penultimate page every Sunday (except Sunday next).HATTIE M MAE H HARPER Reporter About TownBURT'S BOTTOMS UPGot b.u.mps in your bottom? Those itchy, sore hemorrhoids that make sitting uncomfortable? Well, Burt's Bottoms Up is the elixir for you. Just drink a vial of Burt's Bottoms Up and you'll be sitting pretty in no time. No more worries about those hard kitchen chairs. You can eat your meals in peace and comfort with Burt's Bottoms Up. On sale today at the drugstore elixir aisle-bottom shelf.

Miss Sadie's Divining Parlor

MAY 30, 1936.

"You can't be serious," Lettie said as the three of us peered through the wrought iron gate in front of Miss Sadie's house. Ruthanne and Lettie thought I was crazy to be going to work for her. I'd told them all about Ned and Jinx and the poison ivy as we'd kicked up parched leaves on the way over from Shady's place, and they'd read Hattie Mae's column.

"Read it again, if you want. Buster Holt and Elroy Knabb. Calamine lotion? Those were the two guys at the Klan rally in Miss Sadie's story. They used poison ivy for toilet paper. At least that much of her story was true," I argued.

"You don't know that for sure. And for crying out loud, don't you know what 'perdition' means?" Lettie pointed to the sign on the iron gate.

I nodded. "I know what it means," I said. I recalled a preacher in Des Moines who had warned folks who had come for a soup supper to give up their evil ways and stay off the path to perdition. My stomach had been a little upset after that.

"What if she's a witch and casts a spell over you?" asked Lettie.

"She's not a witch. More than likely she's just crazy," I said, even though I didn't believe that either.

"Like a fox," Ruthanne said, chewing on a blade of gra.s.s. "Be careful, Abilene. That old woman might have more up her sleeves than jangly bracelets."