Moon Over Manifest

by Clare Vanderpool

  My balance was good enough. I stepped up on the lip of the pot, holding on to the porch rail to steady myself, and reached for the compass. Just another inch. If the breeze would just catch the compass and nudge it my way … The breeze had died down. But the rocking chair still moved. I stood motionless, realizing that it wasn’t the wind rocking the chair but a large dark form sitting in it. I caught my breath with a tiny cry and tumbled to the ground, breaking the pot in two.

  The figure heaved itself from its chair, and I confess, I didn’t stay long enough to see what happened next. I ran home, made an excuse to Shady about not being hungry, and was in bed before you could say boo. Even as my heart was still thumping loud, it didn’t drown out the sound of those chimes in my head.

  Miss Sadie’s Divining Parlor

  MAY 29, 1936

  After tossing and turning most of the night, I imagine I looked a bit puny the next morning. Shady gave me a sideways look as he doled out a hot bowl of Cream of Wheat at the far end of the bar. I skimmed off a spoonful and blew on it, waiting for it to cool.

  I glanced behind him and noticed a bottle of amber liquid tucked up on a shelf. Having been raised around men who were down on their luck, I was no stranger to the sight of alcohol. There was only the one bottle and it was full. I guessed it made sense to have a little hooch in a saloon, even if it was part church.

  “You had a couple of callers yesterday. Did they find you in the tree house?”

  “Oh, Lettie and Ruthanne?” I tried to sound casual. “Yes, they stopped to visit awhile.” I didn’t think he’d take too kindly to the nighttime activities, and judging from Ruthanne’s and Lettie’s talk, I figured their folks would be even less receptive.

  “Let’s see, they’re cousins. They’d be Nora’s and Bette’s girls. Those Wallace girls, their mothers, used to get into all kinds of mischief when they were young. I guess they’re getting their comeuppances now,” Shady said with a grin.

  I wondered if he knew about the mischief that had gone on the night before.

  “There’s an old shed that’s falling down behind the MacGregor place. I’m going over to gather up some scrap wood. You’re welcome to come along.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll stay here and clean up the breakfast dishes. Gideon says I’m supposed to be a help, not a burden.”

  “Never you mind about that. But all right, then. I’ll be back around noon. We’re having church services here tonight, followed by a potluck dinner. Be sure to invite your friends. Tell them we’d be pleased to have them.” It was flattering, but Shady was highly overestimating my circle of friends. “It looks to be a hot one today.” Putting on a hat that seemed to have long ago lost its shape, he stepped outside and peered into the cloudless sky. He lifted the handles of a wheelbarrow and started off.

  That put an idea into my head, and I mulled it over while washing the dishes and wiping down the bar top. If he was trying to get his outside chores done early, maybe that Miss Sadie would be off doing the same and wouldn’t come back till noon. This was my chance to get my compass back without risking loss of limb or soul.

  My rag caught on a crack in the bar top. At first I thought it was just a split in the wood, but looking closer, I could see that the top of the bar was a movable panel. I pulled on it, and with hardly any effort, the whole section moved forward and then down, another panel taking its place on the top like the first one had never been there. My washcloth had disappeared underneath without a trace.

  Well, the word speakeasy sprung to mind, I can tell you. Those are the places all over the country where folks sell and drink bootlegged alcohol and hope to not get caught by the law. I’ve heard tell they have secret entryways with passwords to get in. And once you’re inside, they’ve got all kinds of hidden panels and quick hiding spots so they can stash their liquor in case there’s a raid by the police.

  Still, I thought it strange that in Shady’s whole establishment, I hadn’t seen but one bottle of liquor, and it was sitting right out in the open. This was something to ponder, but for now, I was wasting the cool of the morning.

  I hung the dish towel on its hook and headed down the Path to Perdition. Miss Sadie’s place wasn’t quite as scary in the daylight. It had gone from being a full-fledged den of iniquity to a sorry excuse for a house. Grass and weeds snuck their way up through the saggy porch and all around the sides of the house, giving it the scruffy look of a week-old beard. If this was a ghost house, it looked like that ghost had lost his job and all his savings along with the rest of the country.

  With not a breath of wind to be had, the chimes hung in silent disregard. I gauged I could be up and down those porch steps, compass in hand, in five seconds. That is, I could have if the compass had still been hanging there. But it was gone.

  Maybe she’d moved it. As I tiptoed up the rotting stairs, they creaked and groaned, cussing me for stepping on their aching backs. In the dusty window a faded sign read INSIGHTS FROM THE BEYOND—MISS SADIE REDIZON, MEDIUM. There was no compass to be found outside and the house looked deserted. The screen door had a yellowed index card stuck in the wire mesh that said, ENTER. I reached into my pocket, felt my two dimes, and tried to decide which one would give me the best answer. I chose one and flipped it. Heads, I’d go home. Tails, I’d go in. Tails. That dime was a dud. I switched to the other one. Tails again. Darn it all.

  The air in Miss Sadie’s parlor was hot and thick. I thought sitting on one of those red velvety couches chock-full of fringy pillows was probably akin to suffocating. Still, I had to find my compass. I took a deep breath and ventured around the room.

  Suddenly, the double doors of the parlor whooshed open. A large fleshy woman stood before me in full regalia. Her eyes were all made up, earrings and bracelets jangling. The sign in the window said Miss Sadie was a medium. From the look of her, I’d say that was a bit wishful. The heavy red dress she wore brushed across the floor, tossing up dust as she hobbled to an ornate chair behind a round table. She seemed to have a bad leg and took some time squeezing herself between the arms of the chair.

  Thinking she hadn’t seen me, I turned to make a clean getaway.

  “Sit down,” she said, her voice thick and savory, like goulash. She put her hands flat on the table. “Let us see if today the spirits are willing to speak.” Suddenly, it became clear. A diviner. A Medium. This woman was a fortune-teller and a spirit conjurer. If you believed in that sort of thing.

  I stood near the front door. “I’m not here for—”

  “Silence!” She held out a hand, motioning me to the chair across from her. I sat.

  She slid a cigar box across the table. I almost told her, “No thank you,” but then I saw a little slot cut into the lid. Now, I didn’t usually have two coins to rub together, and when I did, I was real slow to part with them. But if this was the only way to get my compass back, I guessed I’d have to go along with it. I dropped in a dime. Miss Sadie peered inside the box and slid it back to me.

  She tapped her fingers on the table. “Today is hot. The spirits are reluctant.”

  I wondered if her divining abilities allowed her to see the other coin in my pocket. I might be wanton enough to risk eternal damnation on Miss Sadie’s spiritualism, but I’d be hung if I’d waste another dime.

  “You can tell the spirits it ain’t getting any cooler.” I pushed that cigar box back.

  She heaved a sigh so heavy it might’ve been mistaken for a dying breath. “Very well. What is it you want? Your fortune? Your future?”

  I squirmed, not knowing what to say. She peered at me hard and asked again. “What do you seek?”

  Maybe it was the way she studied me so hard that made me feel like she could see right through me to the brocade wallpaper behind me. I didn’t know what made me say what I said next, and I wasn’t quite sure what I meant by it. It just came out.

  “I’m looking for my daddy.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “I see. Now we get somewhere. Do you have a bauble?”


  “Bauble?”

  “A totem. Trinket. Something your father may have touched?” She puckered her lips, and her already wrinkled face drew into more wrinkles.

  She probably knew darn good and well I was missing Gideon’s compass. And I wasn’t parting with any more money. Besides, she was just an old woman full of beans anyway, so I decided to call her bluff. I pulled out the letter from Ned to Jinx that was folded in my back pocket. If Miss Sadie came up with some cock-and-bull story about my daddy from something that wasn’t his, I’d know she was as phony as a two-headed nickel. I slid the paper over to her.

  Miss Sadie opened it, smoothing the yellowed paper beneath her fleshy palms. As she looked at the words, her hands began to tremble. She held them to her face, and her breath came out in short, shuddering gasps. For a minute, I couldn’t decide if she was crying or dying, but then figured this must be part of her divining preparations.

  Finally, she lifted her head and touched the letter again, gently stroking the page with her palm, as if she was trying to draw the words into herself. “The letter,” she said, without looking at me. “It mentions certain mementos. You have these?” There was something deep and old in her voice. It sounded like need.

  I remembered that the letter mentioned the silver dollar, fishing lure, and skeleton key. “I found them in a Lucky Bill cigar box under a loose floorboard,” I answered a little too quickly, and it made me sound guilty. “There was other stuff, too,” I continued, overexplaining. “An old cork and a tiny wooden baby doll, no bigger than a thimble and all painted up in bright colors.” I wished I could shut myself up.

  After a long pause she rested her gaze on me, puckering her lips again in thought. She seemed to be weighing whether to go on, as if deciding if I was worthy of receiving her divination. “Very well. Place your hands on the table. I will build a bridge between the world of living and dead.”

  “But my daddy is alive,” I said, figuring she’d just given herself away as a fake.

  “The lines between the living and dead are not always clear.” She closed her eyes and breathed slow and deep.

  I closed one eye and peeked out of the other.

  “It is time to reveal secrets of future and past. I see a boy from long ago,” she began. “He is on a train.”

  So far I wasn’t impressed.

  “The boy, he is a stranger to Manifest.”

  “Where is he now?” I asked, cutting to the chase.

  “Silence. The spirits will not be rushed.”

  Miss Sadie was working up a sweat. I’d had no idea it took such effort being a spirit conjurer. I stared, wide-eyed, as the diviner began.

  “The boy, he is tired and hungry. He must act now. He must make a leap of faith.…”

  Triple Toe Creek

  CRAWFORD COUNTY, KANSAS OCTOBER 6, 1917

  Jinx watched the ground rush by in the late-afternoon light. He’d jumped from enough boxcars to know that the jumping was easy. It was the landing that could present a problem. Figuring that the cottonwoods along the creek would be as good a place as any to hide out for a while, he grabbed his pack and leaped.

  Unfortunately, he saw the ravine from midair. Rolling and tumbling, he tried to keep his pack up so it wouldn’t bang on the ground like every other part of him. Finally, he stopped, then listened. He heard a girl’s voice just ahead.

  “Ned Gillen, you have only one thing on your mind. If I’d known why you brought me out here … Why, I am a lady and I’ll have no part of it! And maybe you should find someone else to take to the homecoming dance.”

  Jinx peered over the bush in front of him just in time to see a young woman raise her parasol and march off. A boy—a young man, really—with olive skin and dark wavy hair was left holding a catfish hooked on a line.

  After a moment, the boy stared into the catfish’s bulgy eyes and cleared his throat. “Pearl Ann, I apologize for compromising your femininity by exposing you to the rugged world of fishing. Would you please reconsider and do me the honor of accompanying me to the homecoming dance?” The fish stared back, unmoved.

  Jinx was intrigued by the romantic scene developing before him, but was even more enamored with the catfish wriggling on the hook. He knew he should hop another train to put more distance between him and the events from the night before. The sound of the sheriff’s dogs barking and growling still rang in his ears. But his stomach was the one growling now. Jinx hadn’t eaten since the day before and could already smell that catfish sizzling on a spit.

  “You’re going to have to do more than sweet-talk a fish,” Jinx said, emerging from the bushes.

  Ned Gillen spun around, then relaxed when he saw that it was just a boy. “Is that right? And I suppose you would know in your, what, twelve years of experience with women?”

  “Thirteen, and it’s not what I know, it’s what I have.” Jinx took a brown bottle, which had miraculously remained unbroken, from his pack. “You got all the right words to go after her, but you can’t go smelling like catfish and creek water, can you?”

  Ned sniffed the fish and grimaced. “I suppose not.”

  “What I have here will solve all your problems. It’s a cologne, aftershave, and mouthwash all in one. It comes from the arctic glacial waters off the coast of Alaska. I got it from a hundred-year-old Eskimo medicine man.”

  “And where did you happen to run into a hundred-year-old Eskimo?”

  “I did some work at the docks in Juneau. At any rate, if it can make a polar bear smell good, just think what it can do for you.” Jinx jiggled the bottle. “Time is of the essence, my friend.”

  “I suppose a little fresher-up wouldn’t hurt. But something tells me you’re not in the business of giving away arctic glacial water for free.”

  Jinx pursed his lips. “I suppose we could make a trade. Say, that catfish for this bottle. That is, unless you’re getting kind of sweet on her.”

  Ned grinned and unhooked the fish, revealing a green and yellow spotted fishing hook. He held up the lure. “It’s brand-new. They call it a Wiggle King. So colorful it’ll catch a blind fish. Anyway, I doubt that concoction is worth the fish and the lure.” He handed over the fish and took the bottle.

  “I’ll take good care of her,” Jinx said as Ned left.

  The October night was still and mild as Jinx stretched out by the fire in his shorts, his belly full of catfish. He’d rinsed out his clothes earlier to lessen their scent and hung them from a tree to dry. Jinx was exhausted, but knew he should get moving. He’d hop the next train and head wherever it took him. Still, he reasoned, it might be a while before the next train came by. And he was close enough to the tracks to listen for the chug of an engine. So he eased himself into the cool creek, letting the dust and grime from there to here wash away.

  His uncle Finn had suggested they split up in Joplin. They’d be harder to track if they were separate. Maybe that was the best thing to come out of the whole mess. Even on the run, Jinx felt a sense of freedom, and for the first time, he felt like he could make a fresh start. Still, it was hard to make a fresh start when there was a dead body in your past. It had been an accident. But Finn had said no sheriff would believe that, and his dogs wouldn’t care.

  Jinx leaned back in the water, letting the creek flow through his hair and between his fingers. The current gently pulled him and he gave in to it. Maybe he’d go to Denver or San Francisco. Someplace where no one would notice a kid on the run. Someplace even his uncle Finn couldn’t find him. But the blissful thought vanished as a figure splashed nearby. Cussing and muttering, someone was frantically scrubbing his hair and face.

  It was that fellow Ned. Uh-oh, Jinx thought, noticing that Ned’s build was strong and tall compared to his own shorter, wiry one. Jinx knew he should have moved on long before then. Unfortunately, Ned spotted him.

  “Why, you little … Arctic glacial water, you said. Makes a polar bear smell good, does it? It smells, all right, and I’m sure Pearl Ann would agree.”

  Before Jinx
could retreat, Ned had him by the arm and looked about to drown him or punch him, or both. Then a gunshot went off. Both boys froze.

  “Get your clothes and come with me,” Ned said.

  To his own surprise, Jinx obeyed. But when he went back to the tree where he’d hung his clothes, they were gone. Only his shoes and the socks stuffed in them were left. He ran back to catch up with Ned, who was also dressed in dripping shorts and holding only his shoes.

  “They must’ve taken our clothes,” said Ned. “Come on.”

  Whoops and hollers filled the night air. Jinx followed Ned about thirty yards up the creek. The two crouched low to the creek bed, still dripping and bare. As they peeked over the bank, heat from a bonfire struck them like a train. They saw greetings being passed from one man to the next. Hands were shaken and backs were slapped. Everything was Brother this and Brother that. It could have been a church meeting if not for the white hoods and cloaks. The scene made Jinx shiver.

  “They’re using our clothes for kindling.” Ned pointed to the bonfire. A hooded figure tossed their shirts into the crackling blaze while another laughed.

  “Why would they want to burn our clothes?”

  “They’re drunk and they’re mean. That’s a dangerous combination.” Ned pulled Jinx away from the bank. “Let’s get out of here. Besides, I still have a debt to settle with you.”

  “But who are they? And why do they wear sheets and hoods?” Jinx whispered. He’d already caught a whiff of Ned’s glacial scent and was in no hurry to settle that debt. The so-called glacier water smelled one way in the bottle and a lot different once it hit a person’s skin. But usually, Jinx was long gone by then.