Moon Over Manifest Part 9

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 took me on with him, kind of as his a.s.sistant."

"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 a.s.sociated 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 d.a.m.nation. 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. 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 handkerchief. "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 disa.s.sembled 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 sh.e.l.l 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.

The whole enterprise would have gone off without a hitch if little Danny McIntyre, Joey Fipps, Froggy Sikes, and a dozen other freckle-faced ne'er-do-wells hadn't taken to setting off Manchurian Fire Throwers all over town. One angry mother after another confronted Shady on the street or in a store. Sometimes one was even bold enough to enter his saloon, pulling on a youngster's ear, demanding that Shady deal with the hoodlum under his own roof.

Shady let the first few incidents slide. After all, Donal MacGregor's pig, Stanley, wasn't killed. Fortunately for him, he was wallowing in the mud pen when his lean-to had a hole blasted through the roof boards. But then Greta Akkerson arrived, claiming that her son had gotten hold of a can of Hungarian olives and somehow somehow her chicken coop had its roof blown off and chickens went squawking everywhere. Well, then Shady knew he had to take action. her chicken coop had its roof blown off and chickens went squawking everywhere. Well, then Shady knew he had to take action.

Jinx had been the face of the whole operation, and not one to pa.s.s blame, he took full responsibility and promised to make amends. He wasn't sure what those amends would be until Shady made it clear to him at the New Year's quilt auction.

New Year's Day was cold and clear. The special festivities held enough distractions, with so many people milling around the train depot, that no one noticed Ned Gillen at the army recruitment station, signing his name on the dotted line. Even the recruitment officer was so busy counting out the twenty-five one-dollar bills Ned handed him that he neglected to ask for proof of age.

HATTIE MAE'S NEWS AUXILIARYJANUARY 2, 1918The 1918 New Year's celebration was a rousing success, if a bit unpredictable. Many townsfolk gathered in the train depot, drinking eggnog and wishing cheers to each other's health. A few verses of "Auld Lang Syne" were sung and some had imbibed enough brandy that much of the event will be "never brought to mind."Of course, the utmost antic.i.p.ation was centered on the arrival of the 7:45 train and President Woodrow Wilson. The Manifest High School band was out in full force and played the most inspiring rendition of "Hail to the Chief."The unfortunate explosion of fireworks in the water tower-and subsequent dousing of the president and the newly signed victory quilt-was a somewhat surprising turn of events. While shock among the onlookers was widespread, the range of glee and dismay was split mostly along party lines. Although, it seemed the ruffling of feathers at the president's "pond jumpers" comment (referring to our foreign-born citizens who crossed the ocean) permeated throughout.After the departure of the 7:45 train at 8:07, the day culminated with the much-antic.i.p.ated Daughters of the American Revolution auction. Enthusiasm for the victory quilt waned, what with the president's signature being blurred beyond recognition, but all were pleased to see it bring such a high bid. Although, this reporter has not quite figured out the strategy of members of the same household bidding against each other. It was neck and neck between Shady Howard and the boy Jinx until the youngster won out, taking home the 1918 victory quilt for a bid of $25.75.The mayor wishes to extend his thanks to all the volunteers for their partic.i.p.ation in the day's festivities and is soliciting help with the construction of the new water tower, to be built "not within fifty feet of the depot" by order of the president.Also, if anyone has information regarding the whereabouts of the fireworks salesman, a five-dollar reward is being offered by the Daughters of the American Revolution. See Mrs. Eudora Larkin, president. For all the whos, whats, whys, whens, and wheres in the modern township of Manifest, containing 1,524 registered voters, refer to the Sunday edition.HATTIE M MAE H HARPER Reporter About TownVELMA T.'S VITAMIN REVITALIZERNeed a pick-me-up? Try this chemist's solution to low energy and waning stamina. With a carefully tested combination of iron, pota.s.sium, and calcium, it will give you a new spring in your step and you'll be able to accomplish the many tasks asked of you throughout the day. Just one teaspoon at morning and night and you will have the wherewithal of your youth. See Velma T. at the high school to get your Vitamin Revitalizer today.

PVT. N NED G GILLENCAMP F FUNSTON, KANSAS.

FEBRUARY 10, 1918 10, 1918Dear Jinx,I am settled in here at Camp Funston at almost 2100 hours. (That's military jargon for nine p.m.) It'll be lights-out pretty soon. It seems early for that, but reveille sneaks up faster than Pop's wake-up call of scorched eggs and charred bacon. Sarge says we'll be here a few weeks before shipping out, so that doesn't leave us much time for training. Most fellows here are in pretty good shape from football, basketball, or track and we're raring to go.Hope you're not still mad at me for leaving. After all, I couldn't have done it without you. Without the money from the fireworks sale, I could never have convinced the recruitment officer to sign me up underage. So I owe you, buddy.Don't know if I'm supposed to say where we're going but I'll have to parley vous parley vous a little on my a little on my vichy swaz, vichy swaz, if if you know what I mean. Looks like this Manifest boy is going to shake the coal dust from his shoes and see the world you know what I mean. Looks like this Manifest boy is going to shake the coal dust from his shoes and see the world.Got our uniforms already. Went into town with Heck and Holler to get our pictures made. The man behind the camera was confounded by their outlandish names. Said their mama and daddy must have drunk too much hooch before naming those boys. Don't tell that to Judge and Mrs. Carlson. A house that dry is liable to go up in flames. I'm sending a big photograph to Pop for the mantel, but here's one for you. Think I'll be able to kill a few Huns with my charm and dashing good looks?How are things coming in your search for the Rattler? At least now there's one person you can eliminate as a suspect. Moi. (Another clue to my destination.) (Another clue to my destination.)Oh, river (that's how Heck says au revoir), Ned

Under the Stars

JUNE 12, 1936.

I'd told and retold Miss Sadie's last story and what I'd learned from Hattie Mae's news auxiliary to Lettie and Ruthanne. I'd told them all about the Manchurian Fire Thrower, the untimely demise of Junior Haskell, the explosion at the water tower, and the unfortunate dousing of the victory quilt. I tried to remember every detail, even down to the Hungarian woman's not being allowed to contribute a quilt square. But there were still things that needed pondering.

"So the Hungarian woman was Miss Sadie!" Lettie's words broke the stillness of the dark woods. "So why does she call herself the Hungarian woman? Why doesn't she just say 'me' or call herself Miss Sadie?"

"When she tells the stories, she's sort of removed from them. She's the storyteller."

"Okay," Ruthanne said, "but how does she know certain things that happened when she wasn't there to see for herself?"

"I wondered about that too," I answered. "But remember the Hungarian olives? Jinx had ducked into her tent at the fairgrounds and later he was doing fence work for her. That must be how she knows some of the things she knows. He had to have told her."

"Well, she's got to have some kind of hoodoo. After all, the curse on Mrs. Larkin and the quilt worked!" Lettie said.

Lettie still got excited even though she and Ruthanne had made me tell them the story umpteen times in the past week. And we'd all read Ned's letters so many times we practically knew them by heart. It was always interesting when Miss Sadie's stories overlapped with something in Ned's letters.

Lettie marveled at various parts of the story as Ruthanne and I walked alongside, our feet crunching through twigs and leaves in the moonlight. I was on another one of Miss Sadie's nature errands. She'd had me do all manner of divining divining, as she called it. Things like venturing out at dusk to collect blue moss from under a fallen sycamore tree, and getting up at sunrise to gather a handful of dandelions before the morning dew burned off. The tasks were always unusual and she'd mash whatever I'd brought back into a paste or a powder. To what end, I didn't know. But that night was a bit more mysterious, as I wasn't sure exactly what I was looking for. Miss Sadie said a good diviner needed to watch, and listen, and wait.

"What do you think the curse was?" Lettie continued. "I mean, what curse causes a water tower to explode?"

Truth was I'd been afraid to ask Miss Sadie about the curse she'd placed on Mrs. Larkin. The words seemed so ancient and full of bad omen I didn't want her saying them in English and accidentally directing them toward me.

"And I still don't understand why Shady was bidding against Jinx for the quilt," Lettie said.

Ruthanne rolled her eyes. "How you ever got a better grade than me in math, I'll never know. Now listen and I'll explain it again." Ruthanne always spoke about the stories as if she had witnessed the events herself. "At the auction n.o.body wanted the quilt, because it got wet and the president's signature was all smudged, right?"

"Right," Lettie said, concentrating.

"But Shady knew that Jinx had made a bundle of money selling his homemade fireworks."

"Right. His share was twenty-five dollars and seventy-five cents."

"Right. Since it was Jinx's fireworks that caused the water tower to burst all over the place, Shady wanted him to make rest.i.tution and made him buy it. Jinx probably started with a lowball bid, so Shady kept bidding against him until the quilt finally sold to Jinx for twenty-five dollars-"

"And seventy-five cents!" Lettie's eyes lit up. "The same amount he'd made off the fireworks."

"Yes," Ruthanne said with a sigh. "But it was probably Miss Sadie's curse that doomed the quilt in the first place, don't you think, Abilene?" She didn't wait for me to answer. "She must be a witch. Even Mrs. Larkin called her a sorceress. A caster of spells."

"Then why does she call herself a diviner?" I asked. "How come her sign doesn't say, 'Miss Sadie: Sorceress and Caster of Spells'?"

"Because people in her line of work like to be mysterious. Just like whatever it is we're traipsing through the woods for in the dark right now. There's a mystery." Ruthanne looked at me for an explanation.

"Miss Sadie gave me this bucket and told me to find a young cottonwood tree in the moonlight."

"But what's the bucket for?"

"She said to just keep my eyes open."

"What kind of crazy instructions are those?" Ruthanne grumbled.

"It is kind of adventurous, though," said Lettie. "It's like that song 'Riding the Rails in the Moonlit Night.'" Unbidden, Lettie broke into song.

"I lit out on a dark and dreary night, life had dealt me a heavy blow.First my boss gave me the knee, then it up and rained on me,And I had no earthly place to go.Yodel-ay-hee. Yodel-ay-hee. Yodel-ay-hee."

"For the love of Pete, Lettie, if you don't sing something a little more cheerful, Abilene and me are going to throw you on a train and not wave goodbye."

"Don't worry. It gets better," Lettie said rea.s.suringly.