Moon Over Manifest

by Clare Vanderpool

  “I don’t think your mother is too fond of me,” Ned said.

  “She just doesn’t know you yet.”

  “Yet? I’ve lived in Manifest most of my life.”

  “To someone whose people have lived here for generations, that’s not that long.”

  “Oh, so I have to have a pedigree going back to the time of George Washington.”

  “I didn’t say that. It’s just that Mother doesn’t feel she knows a person until she knows their aunts, uncles, and second cousins twice removed. She just likes to have her ducks in a row.”

  Ned’s shoulders stiffened. It was this whole notion of lineage and background that had sent him back into the mines for a second shift. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well, you’d have to row quite a ways to find my ducks somewhere in Italy, or France, or maybe Czechoslovakia, so that presents a problem, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s not what I meant. I don’t care where you’re from,” she said softly.

  “Pearl Ann!” Mrs. Larkin called again, this time with one eyebrow raised.

  Just then, Arthur Devlin, wearing a dapper pin-striped suit and sporting a sleek black cane, approached Mrs. Larkin. He bowed and took her hand. “Good evening, Mrs. Larkin,” he said in a booming voice. “Or may I call you Eudora, as in our school days?” He winked as he kissed her hand. “Would you be so gracious as to accompany me on a stroll?”

  “I’m afraid as president of the DAR, I really must distribute these quilt squares—”

  “Come now, surely that can wait. My dear departed Esther always said, ‘Don’t do today what you can put off until tomorrow.’ ” He chuckled, turning Mrs. Larkin away from Pearl Ann and Ned, his large build cutting her off from view.

  “It’s pretty clear that your mother cares about where a person is from,” Ned said.

  Pearl Ann grimaced. “Who is it you want to take on the carousel? Me or my mother?”

  Ned dug in his heels and didn’t answer.

  “I see. Well, be careful going round and round on the carousel. Mother is prone to nausea.” Pearl Ann marched away from Ned and her mother.

  “Hey, Benedetto.” A young man snatched the paisley fabric from Ned’s pocket. “You getting your quilt square ready for the victory quilt?” It was Lance Devlin, the mine owner’s son, with a couple of his buddies. “Well, it’s good to see you’re doing your part for the war effort.” The boys, who normally sported their high school letter sweaters, were dressed in smart brown military uniforms and jaunty hats. They formed a half circle around Ned.

  “Going to a costume ball?” Ned said, still smoldering.

  “You didn’t hear? We signed up to do our bit. After all, somebody’s got to go over and fix the mess your folks got themselves into over there.”

  “I didn’t know the army was so desperate that they’ve lowered their requirements in intelligence as well as age.”

  “You mean because I haven’t had my eighteenth birthday yet?” Lance asked. “Yeah, well, it’s amazing how twenty-five dollars can help a recruitment officer overlook a thing or two. Maybe you should try it, Ned old boy, but then, company vouchers might not do the trick.”

  “You’re right about that. The Devlin vouchers aren’t worth the paper they’re written on.”

  “Tut-tut, Ned. You should be relieved that you won’t see me on the track this spring.”

  “Oh, I am relieved.” Ned rubbed his neck. “I strained my neck last year running against you in the mile.”

  “Really?” Lance looked a little pleased as well as surprised.

  “Yeah, from craning my neck to see how far behind you were.”

  The other boys in uniform snickered behind their hands. Lance Devlin got his face up close to Ned’s and tucked the paisley fabric back into Ned’s pocket. “Well, for now you’d better just stitch up your little quilt square and leave the fighting to us. Then again, maybe we should check to make sure you’re not stitching in some kind of spy message. You can never be too careful around those of unknown heritage. And your heritage is about as unknown as it gets, isn’t that right, Benedetto?” Lance stepped back and spoke loudly. “For all we know, that might not even be your real name. Maybe it’s Fritz or Hans. C’mon, fellas.” He bumped Ned’s shoulder in passing.

  Jinx walked up with some warm biscuits. “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing.” Ned stole a glance at the army recruitment stand. “So a con is the art of distraction, huh?”

  “Yes. Are you reconsidering my little pyrotectic plan?”

  Ned squared his shoulders. “Sign me up.”

  The first of December rolled around and all the quilt squares had been turned in—except one.

  “But the deadline is today.” The Hungarian woman shook her quilt square, her bracelets jangling.

  “I’m sure you must have misread.” Eudora Larkin peered through the screen door of her home. “The deadline has passed and the quilt is full. Besides, as president of the DAR, it is my responsibility to ensure the suitability of anything going before the president of the United States. Involvement of someone of your profession would be inappropriate, to say the least.”

  “My profession?” the woman said, challenging her.

  “Well, yes, you know, a fortune-teller. A caster of spells and curses.”

  “Curses?” the woman repeated, her eyes blazing. “Keep your victory quilt. I give you a curse.” She pulled open the screen door. “Ava grautz budel nocha mole.”

  Mrs. Larkin stepped back, cowering, as the screen door slammed shut. Then, trying to regain her composure, she said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake. It’s all poppycock.” She watched the woman walk away. “Poppycock, I tell you.”

  Mrs. Larkin was so distressed by the woman’s curse that by New Year’s Eve she had dark circles under her eyes and was of an overall irritable disposition.

  • • •

  During the weeks leading up to the New Year’s festivities, Jinx and Ned were busy collecting empty cans and filling them with ingredients gathered from sources as varied as the hardware store, bakery, and mine supply.

  After word had gotten out that the coveted Manchurian Fire Throwers were for sale, Jinx and Ned knew they could sell as many as they could make. The abandoned mine shaft Shady used for mixing hooch became a convenient hideout for a new shady endeavor. It was located on the long narrow stretch of land, owned by the Widow Cane, that ran alongside the mine. The shaft had been abandoned years before, when Devlin’s geologists had figured that the heart of the coal vein would be found farther west. For Jinx and Ned, it was a secluded area perfect for making fireworks.

  Jinx carefully emptied black powder from his pockets into a large can.

  “Whoa. Hungarian olives.” Ned read the label on the oversized canister. “Those must be some olives.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been helping the Hungarian woman with some fence work and she gave me this one. It’ll be just the right size for the last of the TNT. Otis, at the mine, said even though a bottle of Shady’s hooch for two pockets of TNT is a bargain, he can’t risk Burton finding out.”

  Ned shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Burton, Devlin, the whole mine has no trouble blasting through anything or anyone who gets in their way.”

  Jinx looked sideways at Ned. He’d been awful moody of late. Ned must have noticed Jinx looking at him, because he said, “How’d you learn all this stuff? The shell game, the art of distraction? Arctic glacial water? And don’t tell me you picked it up from a hundred-year-old medicine man.”

  Jinx shrugged without looking up. “I guess it started a couple of years ago when my mom got sick. My dad took off when I was little, so it was just my mom and me living in a one-room apartment in Chicago. We did okay for a while. She took in sewing and laundry. But when she got sick, my uncle Finn, my dad’s brother, said he could help me make some money for food and medicine. He taught me all kinds of tricks of the trade. Then, when my mom died, it was either end up in an orphanage or go with Finn. He t
ook me on with him, kind of as his assistant.”

  “And …?” Ned wasn’t dumb. He knew that Jinx had come to Manifest on the run, but until now, he had never pressed him for an explanation.

  Jinx was tired. The canister felt heavy in his hands. He set it down, wanting to unburden himself.

  “It was a mediocre con at best. Usually it was missions and tent revivals that worked like a charm, because people came looking for something and we’d provide it. But you had to have a mole, someone not known to be associated with Finn.”

  Jinx took a breath. “I was the mole. I’d have some malady and Finn was the person with the cure for what ailed me. Sometimes I’d be blind. Other times crippled. But it was always something that would be visible to everyone there. Then, when Finn came along, he’d tell the folks about his elixir or balm that was a time-honored remedy from the natives of the Zambezi jungle or a special mixture prepared by a hundred-year-old Indian medicine man. He’d ask for a volunteer to try the stuff. I’d hold back and wait for someone to volunteer me. It was always best if they came up with the idea themselves.”

  “A hundred-year-old medicine man, huh?” Ned said. “I knew it.”

  Jinx grinned. “Yeah, so I’d drink it, or rub it on, depending what my ailment was. Then, with no small bit of drama, I’d be healed. Folks couldn’t get their wallets out fast enough to buy a bottle or two.”

  “But isn’t that nothing more than lying, cheating, and stealing?” Ned asked.

  “I guess I never looked at it that way. That’s what Finn did and I was with Finn.” Jinx grew silent, knowing that his answer had fallen flat.

  “Go on,” said Ned.

  “Well, there was a tent revival in Joplin. They were usually loud and raucous, with lots of shouting and arm waving in one part praise and two parts damnation. But this one was different. The preacher was quiet and gentle. He spoke like a neighbor chatting over the fence. He talked of how he’d done things in his life he wasn’t proud of. Said he’d had sadness and hardship that had left him wandering. Then he’d decided he didn’t want to wander anymore. He started singing and others joined in.” Jinx rested his hands on his knees.

  “That song was about green pastures and restful waters. The preacher talked about walking in the valley of the shadow of death and not being afraid.” Jinx grew quiet, reliving the memory. “I’d never heard anything so nice. All Finn ever told me was that if it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead or in an orphanage someplace where they feed the kids rat soup and make them scrub toilets day and night. So I let that preacher’s words linger in my head and found myself wishing I could be in those green pastures instead of always sneaking into one town and hightailin’ it out of another.

  “But pretty soon the service was over and Finn had to do his act and I had to get healed. Everything went off like usual until Finn and me were in the woods outside of town.”

  The abandoned mine shaft seemed to fade away as Jinx revealed his story.

  Finn was counting the money by the fire when a man sauntered into our campsite. “Hey there, Finn,” he said through buckteeth. “Long time no see.”

  I sat up, thinking Finn would be surprised. But he didn’t act like it. “Hey, Junior,” he said without looking up. Finn just counted the rest of his money and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “I’ve been living just up the road with my aunt Louise. Got my eye on a girl in town.”

  Finn didn’t answer.

  “I saw you at the revival,” Junior said, sitting down at the fire.

  “Yeah, I saw you too.”

  “Boy, we had some times, didn’t we, Finn? Remember that job we did in St. Louis down at the freight house? We left those boys knowing who was boss, didn’t we, Finn?”

  “That was a two-bit hack job, Junior. It didn’t take any brains to clonk a couple guys on the head and steal their hat and shoes. No, sir. I’m a confidence man now. Playing for higher stakes these days. Nothing you’d be capable of.”

  Junior nodded. “This your new partner?” He motioned to me.

  “Yup. He’s younger than you, but smarter.”

  Junior just smiled a goofy smile. “Maybe you’re right, Finn. But I’ve kind of fallen on hard times lately, and I could use a little hand up, if you know what I mean.”

  “More like a handout. That’s what you mean, isn’t it, Junior?” Finn’s voice was hard and mean. “Well, you can forget it. Now go on. Get out of here.”

  Junior stood and walked over behind Finn. “Folks around here wouldn’t be too happy to know you cheated them out of their church money.”

  Finn stood up. “You threatening me, Junior?” Finn’s face cracked into a strange smile. “Go on. Tell the sheriff you’ve captured the notorious outlaw who sells fake elixir. He’ll laugh in your face. Besides, by the time you get back to town, I’ll be halfway to who knows where.”

  Junior pulled a knife from his vest pocket, his hands shaking. “Maybe so, but if I take you into town and I tell them I’ve got the man who killed that banker’s son in Kansas City, I think they might be real interested.”

  Finn froze. “So much for honor among thieves, eh, Jinx?”

  It happened not long after my mother died. Finn and me were living in a fleabag apartment in Kansas City. He’d been out all night, drinking and gambling, when he stormed in and told me to grab my things. We were leaving. I never knew why until Junior shed some light on what had sent us packing.

  I remember thinking two things as I sat by the fire, watching this scene play out. One was that I felt sorry for Junior, and two, I didn’t want to be like him. Wandering in the valley of the shadow of death. Because that was what I’d be doing with Finn.

  In one move, Finn wrenched the knife from Junior’s hand and twisted his arm behind his back.

  Finn winced in pain. “I was just funning with you, Finn. I wouldn’t have turned you in.”

  “Jinx, get a rope.”

  “Just let him go and let’s get out of here,” I said.

  “What’s your hurry, boy? You afraid of me now?” Finn said.

  I didn’t answer.

  Finn threw the knife, planting it in the ground right in front of my feet.

  “I’ll give you something to be afraid of.” His eyes were like smoldering coals as he held on to Junior. “Now go cut a piece of rope in the bag over there.”

  I pulled a long rope from the bag and cut off a section.

  Finn shoved Junior to the ground. “Tie him up.”

  Junior cowered on the ground. “Come on, Finn. I didn’t mean nothing.”

  I walked toward Junior, still carrying the knife and rope, trying to figure out what to do. Finn was rustling around the campsite, grabbing his belongings. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if I did a haphazard job on the tying.

  I wrapped the rope loosely around Junior’s hands and tied it off in a slipknot that could be easily undone. Then I picked up the knife and stood facing Junior. I whispered, “Get your hands free while we’re packing and go.”

  Junior didn’t answer. He just looked past me with fear in his eyes. I knew that Finn was behind me and I knew he’d heard. I turned just in time to meet Finn’s fist as it came crashing into my face. The last thing I remember was the gleaming knife in my hand.

  I couldn’t have been out long, but when I came to, I was lying beside Junior with blood all over me. The knife had gotten him right in the stomach.

  Finn knelt to examine Junior, then looked at me. “You killed him.” He shook his head. “Boy, you are some kind of jinx. I was just going to tie up Junior here and leave him in the woods until we was gone. Now look what you done.”

  I did look. Long and hard.

  “Yes, sir, there’s a shadow of bad luck all over you. First your daddy leaves; then your mama dies. Now poor, stupid Junior.” He took the knife. “I must be the only one free of your hoodoo bad luck.” He looked at me with a combination of disgust and pity. “I guess you’ll have to stick with me,” he said, wiping the blade with his handkerchi
ef. “Otherwise, you might end up bringing bad luck to your own self.”

  I was scared.

  Jinx accidentally kicked over the canister of TNT, bringing the abandoned mine shaft and disassembled canisters and fuses back into focus.

  “Go on,” Ned said.

  “Within a couple days, word got out that the sheriff of Joplin was looking for a pair that was responsible for killing Junior Haskell. Junior had told some of his pals that he was meeting up with a couple of fellas from his glory days. That he’d seen us at the tent revival. His aunt Louise told the sheriff about the revival and there was a whole town full of witnesses who knew what we looked like. Finn said since they were looking for a pair, we’d better split up. That’s when I hopped a train heading one direction and he hopped one heading the other way.”

  Ned locked his eyes on Jinx, giving him his full attention. “That can hardly be considered murder. It was an accident. If anything, it was your uncle’s fault.”

  “But I was the one holding the knife. I must have swung around when Finn hit me, and, well, the knife went where it went. But try explaining that to an angry crowd or a jury of Junior Haskell’s peers.” Jinx’s face flushed and his hands were shaking. “Here, help me put Mr. Hinkley’s shell back together.” He handed Ned the original Manchurian Fire Thrower, ending the conversation. “He’s setting up his big fireworks show down by the depot. They’re pulling out all the stops for President Wilson’s big visit.”

  “Where’s the fuse?”

  “We must have used his fuse in one of our canisters. Just cut me a piece off that roll. Better make it good and long. Three hundred feet in the air is pretty high.”

  The following days held a thriving business for Jinx and Ned. Boys from all over found excuses to frequent Shady’s place. When the last canister was sold, the boys had taken in a grand total of fifty dollars and seventy-five cents. Ned took his half and insisted that since Jinx was the idea man, he should have the extra seventy-five cents.