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 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 pass 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 AUXILIARY
JANUARY 2, 1918
The 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 anticipation 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-anticipated 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 participation 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 MAE HARPER
Reporter About Town
VELMA T.’S VITAMIN REVITALIZER
Need a pick-me-up? Try this chemist’s solution to low energy and waning stamina. With a carefully tested combination of iron, potassium, 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. NED GILLEN
CAMP FUNSTON, KANSAS
FEBRUARY 10, 1918
Dear 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 a little on my vichy swaz, 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.
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.)
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, 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 nobody 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 restitution 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 reassuringly.
“My soul and my shoes were all wore through, no money or job in sight,
But once I hit the tracks, my burdens at my back,
I hopped that train in the pale moonlight.”
I couldn’t help but join in.
“Yodel-ay-hee. Yodel-ay-hee. Yodel-ay-hee.”
We reached a clearing at the creek bed and studied the rocky, parched ground, and I imagined a time when this had been a lively stream that one could wade in for a swim. “There’s cottonwoods all along here,” Ruthanne said.
I touched the rough, heavy bark. “They look too old. She said a young cottonwood.”
“Then let’s look for some volunteers that have sprouted up more recently. Besides, the moon isn’t very bright yet. Come on. I’m getting hungry.” She steered us toward a clearing in a grove of cottonwoods and elms, some not much bigger than saplings.
Ruthanne sat down, her back against a rotted tree trunk, and opened a knapsack. “I guess if we have to wait for the eye of newt and heart of toad to present themselves, we might as well get comfortable. What’d you bring?”
We had agreed that we would each bring some food to share during our outing. Ruthanne pulled out three liverwurst sandwiches. I produced a dusty jar of pickled beets I’d found in Shady’s pantry. They wouldn’t have been out of the running next to the liverwurst sandwiches, but then Lettie produced a tin with two cookies in it. She handed one to me and one to Ruthanne.
“Gingersnap!” I said, biting into one, its sweet spiciness giving me a thrill. “Where’s yours?”
“I already had my fill. It was my sister Susie’s birthday on Tuesday, and as a surprise we all agreed to go without eggs for breakfast this week so Mama could exchange them for sugar at the grocer’s,” Lettie explained. “She made a dozen gingersnaps.”
“Here, have half of mine,” I offered. Lettie took the half with some reluctance, I thought.
Ruthanne took one bite of her cookie, and then another. “Your mama sure makes a fine gingersnap. My mama always says she was born to manhandle a cast iron skillet but your mama was blessed with the lighter touch of a baker.” Ruthanne ate the last of the cookie. “Sing us a song, Lettie.”
Lettie beamed. “I lit out on a dark and dreary night.…”
We were in no hurry, since Lettie and Ruthanne had gotten permission to spend the night with me at Shady’s place. I hadn’t been sure if they’d be allowed to stay over, what with Shady being … Shady. But it seemed their mothers had known Shady their whole lives and they said it was fine as long as we could stomach his burnt biscuits in the morning.
Lettie’s song lulled us for a time. Then all grew still. We’d talked so much about Ned’s letters and who the Rattler might be. It seemed like a good time to set our minds on other things.
“How’s your story coming, Abilene?” Lettie asked. “The one Sister Redempta assigned you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really have a story to tell.”
“Telling a story ain’t hard,” Lettie said. “All you need is a beginning, middle, and end.”
“Hmm,” I answered, wondering if it was that simple.
“It’s so quiet out here,” Lettie said, changing the subject.
I listened for sounds of birds or cicadas … or rattlers. Both the rattly spy kind and the slithery snake kind. “Do you think maybe there are snakes in these woods?” I asked.
“Snakes?” Ruthanne pondered the notion. “Uncle Louver says there’s critters of all shapes and sizes out here. He tells quite the tale about goings-on in the woods.”
I wasn’t really up for hearing it, but judging by the way she stretched back and put her hands behind her head, I knew she was waiting to be asked.
“Maybe now’s not the best time for that story, Ruthanne,” Lettie said. “It’s already kind of spooky out here.”
“Go on,” I said, pretending to stifle a yawn. “Let’s hear it.”
Ruthanne looked sideways at me, I guess gauging if my level of enthusiasm deserved her tale.
“Well,” she began, “he was setting some traps—Uncle Louver, that is—when he hears a god-awful noise. He thinks it’s a raccoon or maybe a possum, so he goes to check it out. By the time he realizes it’s no critter, it’s too late.”
“Mm-hmm. Too late,” Lettie echoed.
Ruthanne leaned forward. “He sees a man looking all afraid at something. His face all pale and eyes wide. That man was petrified.”
“Pet-ri-fied,” Lettie said.
“Of what?” I asked, my interest on the rise.
“The ghost. A big black ghost floating and rattling right towards that man. The fella’s backing up, backing up. Then Uncle Louver hears one of his traps snap.” Ruthanne clapped her hands together. “And things get quiet.”
“What’d he do?” I asked. “Uncle Louver, I mean.”
“He ran away. Fast as he could.”
“Mama says Uncle Louver always was a bit skittish,” L
ettie added.
“Who was it? Who was caught in the trap?”
“That’s just it.” Ruthanne leaned back again, leaving a sufficient pause for the night sounds of the forest to fill in. “Never was a body found. He brought his brothers back to find it and there sat the trap, still snapped shut. All that was left was an old boot.”
“That’s right. An old, beat-up boot,” Lettie said.
Then both girls said together, “And the foot was still in it.”
I wasn’t sure if they were fooling, but right then, in the darkness of those same woods, that image hung before me like the ghost itself.
“So the boot, the foot, what’d they do with ’em?” I asked.
Ruthanne continued. “Uncle Louver wanted nothing to do with it, in case the ghost came looking for it, so he buried it.”
“Did anyone ever see the ghost again?”
“Oh, some would see a passing shadow now and again, but they could hear it rattling around in the woods.”
“Rattling?” I said. “What if that ghost and the Rattler were one and the same?”
“I suppose that’s a thought.” Ruthanne considered the possibility. “Uncle Louver says that sometimes, even now, he catches a shadowy glimpse of that figure going hither and yon, especially during a full moon.”
As she said it, we realized the moon was full and brilliant above us.
“Look,” I said.
“What? Did you find the eye of newt and heart of toad?” Ruthanne asked.
“Close.” I pointed. Glistening in the soft ground around the saplings were hundreds of big fleshy worms. “Miss Sadie knew we’d find worms here for her garden.”
“Or her witch’s brew.”
“Either way, let’s put them in the bucket. Then we can get out of these creepy woods.”
We worked quickly, scooping up handfuls of dirt before the worms could wiggle their way deep into the ground. Then, with two of us at a time sharing the weight of the bucket, we started back to Shady’s place, looking hither and yon for any ghostly movement.