Moon Over Manifest (15 page)

When Lettie and Ruthanne were quiet, I reached for the not-so-shiny Liberty Head silver dollar in my windowsill collection of mementos. I tilted it slightly to catch the glimmer of moonlight. It no longer surprised me to find connections between the articles in the box and Miss Sadie’s stories. Still, some things were a mystery. I thought of our stash of worms outside. The life churning in the bucket was a mystery. How did Miss Sadie know things like where to find worms in the moonlight? What happened to the man who lost his foot in Uncle Louver’s trap? Who or what was haunting the woods? Was it the Rattler? I put the silver dollar back in its place beside the Wiggle King lure.

These many questions swarmed in my head, leaving me restless and uneasy. But it was the look on Lettie’s face that night in the growing moonlight that made me wonder the most. The way she’d beamed when Ruthanne had asked
her to sing us a song. I thought I knew a thing or two about people. Even had my list of universals. But I wondered. Maybe the world wasn’t made of universals that could be summed up in neat little packages. Maybe there were just people. People who were tired and hurt and lonely and kind in their own way and their own time.

Once again, I felt off balance, as if I was playing tug-of-war and the person I was tugging against let go.

Lettie, half asleep, sang, “
Once I hit the tracks, my burdens at my back, I hopped that train in the pale moonlight.
” I admired how Ruthanne knew what I did not. That Lettie hadn’t had her fill of gingersnaps. With six kids in her family, she had more than likely given up her own cookie and traded something for an extra one to share with us.

The moonlight shone on the silver dollar and I thought of Miss Sadie’s story of Jinx and Ned. Of Uncle Louver’s ghost story. Of Lettie’s story about having had her fill. Of Ned’s letters and Hattie Mae’s “News Auxiliaries,” that I read like bedtime stories. And of Gideon’s story I was struggling to learn. If there is such a thing as a universal—and I wasn’t ready to throw all of mine out the window—it’s that there is power in a story. And if someone pays you such a kindness as to make up a tale so you’ll enjoy a gingersnap, you go along with that story and enjoy every last bite.

Yodel-ay-hee. Yodel-ay-hee. Yodel-ay-hee.

T
he next day was hot. I wasn’t sure those worms were going to be happy with their new place, but they wiggled their way into that dry dirt like it was home sweet home. I figured they’d have to go down so deep to reach water that they’d come up on the other side of the world.

Miss Sadie seemed in a dark mood that morning. “Today you make rows. Not too deep. Not too wide. Dig.” Her leg was red and swollen, so even her rocking on the back porch made her grit her teeth. And her bark made me grit mine.

Still, I’d been working up the nerve to ask her what the curse she’d laid on Mrs. Larkin was. The one that had left the county appraiser’s wife in a tizzy. Lettie and Ruthanne weren’t going to let it go until I found out.

“Um, m-ma’am?” I stuttered, not sure if she’d mind my having figured out she was the Hungarian woman in the
story. Miss Sadie kept rocking. “That curse you popped on Mrs. Larkin?”

“Curse,” she scoffed. “You believe everything that is told to you. Curses? Spies?” I jumped at her mention of spies. How did she know about that? I’d never even mentioned the Rattler to her. She may not have a bead on the future, but Miss Sadie surely had second sight when it came to the present.

“The only curse that woman bore was her own ignorance,” Miss Sadie huffed.

“Well, what exactly did you say to her?”

“
Ava grautz budel nocha mole.
”

I cringed as she repeated the phrase.

“It is Gypsy. It means ‘May your life be as long as the hair on your chin.’ And if you do not get busy, I will put an equally devastating curse on you.”

I couldn’t help grinning as I took up a shovel. Digging a square of dirt, then pitching it to the side, I hoped Miss Sadie’s mood had lightened. It hadn’t.

“No,” she scolded. “You shovel like a
disznó
. A pig. You cannot toss the ground aside like an old rag. Then it will not help you later. Use a hoe, there by the shed.”

What kind of demon woman is she?
I wondered as I gripped the hoe, scooping the dirt to one side and then the other, making a gully in the middle. That made me a bit cantankerous, because crazy as she was, I could see the sense in making a neat row of ground piled on each side to keep the moisture from running off. If ever the rain came.

But time wore on, and as the dirt mingled with the sweat on my body, I felt strangely comforted by the
chunk, chunk, chunk
of the hoe digging into the ground. I let the rhythm of
it take me back to many a dusty ride in a freight car with Gideon. The two of us, listening to the
chunk, chunk, chunk
of the track joints, lost in our own thoughts.

I continued with my list of what I knew about Gideon. He could start a campfire quicker than most. He always let out a contented breath after a first sip of coffee. And he liked to flip flapjacks high into the air.

I smiled at the thought, but a worried frown took over as I wondered what Gideon was doing right then. Maybe unloading twenty-pound sacks of flour from a boxcar. What if he’d been let go from his railroad job? Was he sidling his way into a diner, offering to work for food? He’d know that the man behind the cash box would turn him down, but on a good day, a man eating at the counter might buy him a sandwich and a cup of coffee. It always helped to have a little girl in tow. He needed me.

Or so I thought. What had changed? If there was ever a part of Gideon’s life that needed divining, it was this. Why had he sent me away? As Miss Sadie liked to say, I’d have to dig deeper.

It had only been a scratch on my leg the day Gideon had started turning in on himself. It was April 12. I remembered because it was Easter and the day after my twelfth birthday, just two months earlier. We were in Shreveport, Louisiana. The Shreveport Gospel Mission Church was having an Easter supper for anyone who would come and listen to the preacher’s sermon. The way he went on for two hours about sitting down to the Lord’s great banquet and eating manna from heaven, we had our hopes set a little on the high side. So when they ran us through the chow line for a bowl of
watery onion soup and stale bread, it was a disappointment. One weathered old hobo told the preacher that if he wanted more pilgrims on that road to heaven, they should pave it with pork and beans instead of onion soup.

That night we hopped the Southern bound for St. Louis. We were both in a mood. Hungry and tired, I sat with my legs dangling out the boxcar, catching a breeze, when a tree branch caught me on the leg. It nearly flung me from the car but I managed to stay on. Still, it gave me a good gash on the leg and we had to find a doctor.

Chunking up the dirt in Miss Sadie’s yard, I could feel it grinding into the scar above my knee. The infection and fever had lasted three days. I didn’t remember much other than frightful dreams and sweating clear through my nightgown and sheets. And Gideon’s worried face beside my bed. When I finally came out of it, he looked at me like I was a different person from the little girl he’d known before. He kept saying I was growing up. I was becoming a young lady and other nonsense. I told him I hadn’t seen the branch coming and it was just a scratch, but I guess he figured it would be easier traveling without me along to get into trouble.

“He thinks it is his fault,” Miss Sadie said in her out-of-the-blue way.

The hoe nearly struck my foot. “Why would he think that?” I asked, not even bothering to wonder how Miss Sadie could know the thoughts swimming in my head.

“To see Ned get on the train and leave Manifest and the people who love him. Jinx thinks it is his fault.”

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, I suppose it was Jinx’s fireworks
scheme that got Ned the twenty-five dollars he used to bribe that recruitment officer into letting him enlist underage. But Ned’s the one who was so anxious to leave.”

“When there is suffering, we look for a reason. That reason is easiest found within oneself.” Miss Sadie held up her hand, shielding herself from the stark light of day.

I thought of Jinx saying goodbye to Ned at the train station. Watching him until he was out of sight, then watching some more. Wondering why one had to leave while the other stayed behind.

For some reason, my face flushed, and it wasn’t from the heat. “So let me guess. Jinx skipped town. He ran away. Isn’t that what people do when things get tough? They move on to the next town and leave all their troubles behind? And everyone they care about?” My words came out in such a rush I wasn’t sure if I was talking about Gideon or Jinx.

“You speak of a town of immigrants. People who already left everything behind.” Miss Sadie spat. “Yes, there is plenty of blame to go around and much of it ended up in Manifest.” Her words trailed off and she fixed her stare ahead.

Somehow, I felt we weren’t talking about Gideon
or
Jinx anymore, but about Miss Sadie. It was in that moment, when I saw the weight of age and pain weighing down on her, every creak of the rocking chair sounding as if it was coming from her very bones, that I had a revelation. As much as I had a need to hear her story, she had a need to tell it. It was as if the story was the only balm that provided any comfort.

“So what happened after Ned left?”

Miss Sadie drew a breath and seemed to hold it forever. Finally, she exhaled and her breath carried the words.