Moon Over Manifest (6 page)

“What are we going to do now?” Lettie repeated. “Aren’t we going to leave well enough alone?”

Ruthanne looked at Lettie like she’d given the wrong answer to two plus two. “Of course we’re not going to leave well enough alone. We’re going to start up our spy hunt again first thing tomorrow.”

I put the note into my pocket for safekeeping. We made plans for Lettie and Ruthanne to come back the next morning and said our goodbyes.

The saloon-church looked warm and inviting with its light glowing through the stained-glass windows. But I wished Gideon was there waiting for me. To say good night to me. I reached for the compass to hold, but it was gone. My heart pounded, and even though I hadn’t moved, I felt like I’d lost my bearings. The compass was my most valued possession and I’d lost it twice in two days! I must have snagged it when I’d squeezed through the cemetery fence.

The cemetery. Now, no human being wants to be in a cemetery at night—no normal one, anyway—but I had to find Gideon’s compass.

“Ruthanne. Lettie,” I called, hoping they’d go back with me. They were already out of earshot.

I couldn’t ask Shady. I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about us following Mr. Underhill into the cemetery in the first place. I didn’t plan to show him the note either. That would surely end our spy hunt. So I did the only thing I could. I turned my feet back toward that cemetery and made them walk, one in front of the other.

The moon was on the rise and shed some light for me to look around by, but also made strange shadows on the tombstones. I searched near the fence but found no compass. I slipped back through it to look. Wandering around the markers, I couldn’t help noticing the dates, wondering if Gideon had known some of these folks while they were still among the living.

Some stones had sweet little verses. Others said something
about the person who was six feet under. Some of them spoke volumes about the deceased’s life and times.

And next to John Foster:

The wind was picking up, blowing a warm, dry air over me. I was about to give up my hunt until morning when I heard a faint sound, something akin to church bells beckoning in the distance. I squeezed back through the fence and let the breeze take me just a little farther toward the sound.

I knew I was nearing the gate marked
PERDITION
, and sure enough, there was what Charlotte had called Miss Sadie’s Divining Parlor. That den of iniquity. Preachers used the word
iniquity
when talking about the strange and wicked. That divining parlor looked to fit the bill.

Wind chimes of all shapes and sizes lined the porch, making their lonely music in the breeze. And hanging among them was my compass, glinting in the moonlight. How it had got there, I couldn’t be sure. But I knew the wind hadn’t carried it. Someone had hung it there.

The house was dark and a rocking chair added an unharmonious sound to the delicate tinkling of the chimes. It creaked back and forth in the dark shadows of the porch. I opened the wrought iron gate, with all its welded forks and
pans, and tender-footed my way to the porch. The compass hung far from the stairs, and the porch was too high to reach from the ground. But beside the uneven steps was a large clay pot. Going up onto the porch seemed like it would be asking for trouble, so I scooted the pot over. It was so heavy I could barely move it. I hoped I’d scooted it within reach of the compass.

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.

A
fter 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.”