Sitting on the floor, Eva played with her set of colorful nesting dolls, removing one hollowed-out and brightly painted doll from inside the other, while everyone waited for someone to speak. Jinx breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like Mrs. Larkin wasn’t going to make it after all, but then the door burst open and Mrs. Larkin came in, wagging her finger. She hadn’t been invited either.
“Shady, I’ve a bone to pick with you. That hooligan you’ve got staying here—” She stopped, realizing that Shady’s saloon was full of people who she was fairly certain were not his usual crowd. “What’s going on here?”
Shady just whistled nervously and wiped out a few more whiskey glasses.
“Come on in, Eudora.” Hadley pulled up a chair for her at the Cybulskis’ table. “We’re just having a little town meeting, so I guess this pertains to you too.”
Mrs. Larkin was apparently too stunned to speak and quietly took her seat, clutching her handbag in her lap.
“Thank you all for coming,” Hadley continued. “I think we all know why we’re here, except for maybe Mrs. Larkin. My apologies, Eudora. In a nutshell, Arthur Devlin needs the piece of land belonging to the late Widow Cane, and for once, there’s something he can’t get his hands on. That land could be a big bargaining tool for all of us. He has to get to his vein of coal, and if we owned the Widow Cane’s land, he’d have to go through us to get it.”
There was a silence while all present considered what this meant.
“But the Widow Cane, she is dead, no?” said Callisto Matenopoulos. “Who owns the land now?”
“Legally, no one,” said Haley. “The Widow Cane passed away July first and left no heirs. Therefore, her estate is considered in probate, or in holding.”
Those assembled stared at him, not sure what he was telling them.
“Effectively, the land, and the vein of coal that runs beneath it, belongs to no one at this time. For all practical purposes, it’s—”
“No-man’s-land.” The words were spoken in a deep voice filled with salt water and brogue. Jinx knew who had spoken without even looking. Donal MacGregor stood just inside the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest, waiting for the image conjured by his words to sink in.
Everyone was painfully aware of the term used to describe the open ground between opposing trenches in the fields of France, Belgium, and Germany and of the deadly struggle for that land.
“Aptly put, Donal.” Hadley continued. “The property can be purchased by the township of Manifest along with payment of back taxes within ninety days. If the township does not have the necessary funds, or simply does not want the land, as of October first, it will revert to the county and then be open for public auction.”
Donal moved to the bar and poured himself a drink. “And the mine will outbid us all and the property will be theirs. They’ll have what they need to keep us under their thumb. Aye, it’ll be a right bloody battle to keep that land away from Devlin.” He swallowed the whiskey in one gulp.
Even without Mr. Underwood present, everyone could practically hear the final nail being hammered into a coffin.
“What is for us to do?” asked Nikolai Yezierska. “The mine—it owns us. It says you must work more hours in a day for same pay. They say here is voucher to buy what costs double at the company store. So it is Sunday? First, you work. Then you can go to church. Look at the Germans. They have a few meetings and the men in the hooded robes burn a cross to warn them.”
Everyone nodded.
“How much would it cost to buy the land, Hadley?” asked Hermann Keufer, who had been a man of some means in his homeland of Germany until he had spoken out against the Kaiser. He stroked his handlebar mustache, waiting for an answer.
“To buy the land and pay the back taxes, it will cost one thousand dollars.”
Callisto Matenopoulos expressed the shock of everyone present. “None of us have money. All we have to sell are store vouchers and perhaps a few silver spoons and thimbles brought over from our homelands.”
“What about the skills that we bring?” asked Casimir Cybulskis. “I was a tailor in Poland. I can make suits. Surely there are others who can make goods or provide services for money.”
“And who would pay for these?” asked Nikolai. “Yes, I make shoes. But who here will buy my shoes? As you say, we have no money.”
“Besides,” argued Olaf Akkerson, “Burton and his pit boys, they will know what we do. And they will take action against us. Remember Sean McQuade? He lost his job at the mine for merely suggesting that the men should not work on Sundays.”
“We have children to feed.” Etta Cybulskis rested a hand on her swollen belly, carrying her sixth child.
“They are right,” Callisto said. “We cannot risk opposing the mine. There will be consequences.”
There was a fearful rumble of assenting and the room grew quiet. There seemed to be no more to say. Little Eva continued playing with her nesting dolls, opening a larger doll to take out a smaller one and holding it in front of the peephole for Jinx to see. Fortunately, no one took notice of her. Jinx carefully reached down to rub his left foot, hoping the meeting would end soon.
The Hungarian woman plunked her shot glass down onto the bar top and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Do you forget where you come from?” She stared them down. “What about the others who depend on us? Those who are left behind?” Her breathing was heavy. “Casimir Cybulskis.” She raised her chin at him. “When your village was attacked, did your grandmother not hide you in a barn? Did she not give you her life savings to send you to America?
“Callisto Matenopoulos. Your mother. Did she not work three jobs to provide you with the chance to make the same voyage?
“And, Nikolai Yezierska? What about your family? They had to make a choice. Which son will go to America and which son will be forced to join the army? Your older brother. He insists you go and he will stay, no?” There was a stunned silence. They hadn’t realized she knew so much about them.
“They sacrifice to send us here.” she continued. “And for what? To live a dream of freedom and prosperity? Pah. They would be ashamed of us. What is it to defy the Devlin mine to those who have risked everything?”
Her words lingered. Those in the room who had remained unnamed looked into their own pasts—their own stories of coming to America.
Until a moment before, these people in Shady’s bar had thought they knew little of each other as they hunkered with their own kind in their own trenches. But with the Hungarian woman’s words, they suddenly recognized something in each other. They shared the same blood. Immigrant blood.
There was a long silence finally broken by Donal MacGregor.
“She’s right. They’ve pushed us ’round long enough. I say it’s time to do summat about it.”
Hadley observed the nods of agreement. “Okay. The question is, what?”
“Aye.” Donal rubbed his weathered chin. “They’ve got us over a barrel and they know it.”
“And what do the Scots do when they’re over a barrel?” asked Mr. Matenopoulos.
Donal’s face broke into a wide grin. “Before or after we drink what’s in it?”
There was relief in the laughter. Even Olaf and Greta Akkerson gave a chuckle.
“Well, even if we wanted to,” Hadley said, “I don’t think we’re going to be able to drink our way out of this one. We need money, and lots of it. Unfortunately, the only ones making any money are the mine owners and the bootleggers. No offense, Shady.”
“None taken.”
Jinx’s entire body was becoming one contorted knot. He stretched his leg ever so slightly and accidentally knocked over one of the whiskey bottles with a crash.
Everyone sat rigid and tension filled the room.
“What was that?” Mr. Matenopoulos asked.
Shady grabbed an empty glass. “Anyone want another round? Another cup of tea?”
Hadley Gillen stepped behind the bar, and after a quick examination, he r
emoved the panel and hoisted Jinx from his hiding place, dislodging the wad of bills at the same time and sending them fluttering all over the bar top.
“You!” Mrs. Larkin cried out. “Velma, is this the hooligan who had access to your so-called elixir? More like the devil’s brew if you ask me. Is that the kind of thing you concoct in your chemistry class?”
“Calm down, Eudora,” Velma T. urged. “I admit there was a bit more kick in it than usual, but even you said it helped your fever and chills.”
“Helped me look a fool! The way those Temperance League ladies carry on, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Jinx gathered up his money and inched his way toward the door, mistakenly thinking he could slip out while the two women argued it out.
“Call the sheriff. Arrest that boy,” Mrs. Larkin ordered.
Donal MacGregor stuck out his foot to block Jinx’s escape. “Not so fast, lad.”
“He’s been a source of conniving and cajolery in this community long enough,” Mrs. Larkin continued. “Just look at his loot. Who knows how many other innocent people he’s hoodwinked into buying that snake oil. I insist that he be put under arrest.”
“Now hold on, Eudora,” said Hadley. He looked at Jinx, who had his money in hand. “You’d better have a seat, son, until we get this sorted out. And why don’t you hand over that money to Shady for the time being?”
Jinx placed the money on the bar and took a seat behind the counter next to Shady, his one sure ally in the room.
“We have bigger problems at hand,” Casimir Cybulskis said, resuming the discussion. “How to raise a thousand dollars without being noticed by Burton. It is impossible.”
The room erupted in a din of agreement. Then Shady had an idea. “From the look of things, the mine owners and bootleggers aren’t the only ones making money after all.” He fanned the stack of bills in front of him.
“What are you saying, Shady?” asked Hadley.
“I’m saying that this young man may have an idea that we would do well to listen to.”
“You’re not suggesting we take advice from a con artist?” Mrs. Larkin asked in horror.
“All I’m saying is drastic times call for drastic measures.”
All eyes looked to Jinx, and Jinx looked to Shady with a horror to match Mrs. Larkin’s.
“Hadley Gillen!” Mrs. Larkin protested.
The hardware store owner jumped, wondering how he’d been put in the position of judge and jury. “Well, now …” He scratched his head, straining for a solution to this predicament. Then Velma T. came to his rescue.
“It’s true that Jinx tampered with the elixir that caused Mrs. Larkin to be a little more … well, animated than usual. So it does appear that some restitution is in order. Might I suggest that he do some manual labor for Mrs. Larkin? He can be quite industrious under the proper supervision.”
“That sounds like a fine idea. What say you, Eudora? Will a little restitution do the trick?”
“Well, Your Honor, I hardly think—”
“Settled.” Hadley tapped his glass on the table like a gavel. “Now, if we could get back to the subject at hand …”
All eyes returned to Jinx.
“Shady, I don’t think these folks want to hear from me,” Jinx whispered.
“Well, I’m sure Sheriff Dean would be more than eager to ask you a few questions,” Shady whispered back. “These folks are desperate. There’s no telling what they might do.”
Hadley Gillen looked at the worn faces all looking at Jinx. “Young man, this town is at a bit of an impasse. If you have any suggestion that might help, now would be the time to voice it.”
Jinx squirmed to his very core. He looked pleadingly at Shady to be relieved of this fix.
Little Eva, who had continued to carefully take apart each doll to remove a smaller one from inside, finally removed the tiniest doll, and tottered over to Jinx. “Matryoshka,” she said, naming the nesting doll. She handed the smiling doll to him as if this tiny memento embodied the hopes and fears of everyone in the room.
Jinx accepted the gift and the burden. He cleared his throat. “So,” he began haltingly, “you want to keep Devlin and Burton out of town for a month and make a thousand dollars?”
“That’s right,” Hadley answered for the group.
“Would that include keeping Sheriff Dean out of town?”
Hadley paused, studying Jinx. He seemed to sense the bargaining that was taking place. “I suppose it would.”
“Then I have an idea.”
There was a solidarity among the people in Shady’s bar that night, as one by one they emerged from their trenches and ventured into no-man’s-land.
FULL An Excellent Investment
ASSOCIATION and a Patriotic Duty
PRESS
MANIFEST HERALD
MANIFEST, KANSAS SUNDAY—JULY 21, 1918 PAGE 1
SPANISH INFLUENZA—
NO OCCASION FOR PANIC
————
Dr. Alfred Gregory, Mine Medical Staff
The Spanish influenza is nothing more than the old grip or la grippe, which circulates from time to time. Symptoms include chills, aching, fever, and sometimes nausea and dizziness. The germs attack the lining of the air passages, nose, throat, and bronchial tubes, which results in a deep cough and sore throat.
At the first symptoms, go to bed, stay quiet, and don’t worry. Take a laxative, such as prunes, and eat nourishing food. One may also apply menthol and camphor rub to the chest, back, and neck. However, prevention is the best medicine. Evidence seems to prove that this is a germ disease spread principally by human contact, chiefly through coughing, sneezing, or spitting. So avoid persons who are likely to do those things. And remember: hard work and healthy living will keep one free of sickness.
HEALING SPRING WATERS
HOT SPRINGS, ARKANSAS
Come to the healing springs of Hot Springs, Arkansas. Who needs Colorado Springs when you can find healing and comfort in the moderate climate of Hot Springs, Arkansas? Take a walk on the promenade of Bathhouse Row and choose from one of our many bathhouses. You can bathe in our natural thermal mineral springs, which are known for their therapeutic value in the relief of common ailments such as arthritis, bursitis, rheumatism, and gout. Come visit the springs of Hot Springs, Arkansas.
HATTIE MAE’S NEWS AUXILIARY
JULY 21, 1918
I regret that there will be no “Hattie Mae’s News Auxiliary” this week due to my feeling puny these last couple of days. I will keep my chin up and hopefully resume writing all the whos, whats, whys, whens, and wheres by next week.
HATTIE MAE HARPER
Reporter About Town
PVT. NED GILLEN
IN AN OPEN FIELD
JUNE 28, 1918
Dear Jinx,
How’s the spy hunt going? Uncovered any subterfuge? If President Wilson comes to visit again, which he probably won’t, tell him Ned Gillen says hey and us boys overseas could use some warm blankets and better food.
We’re all tired and hungry right now. After a long ride in boxcars with soldiers jammed shoulder to shoulder, we had an even longer march in the pouring rain. We were heading one direction, watching lines of old-timers trudging the other way. A sad-looking lot with their scraggly beards and muddy uniforms, they seemed like they’d been through it. We’d see sixty, seventy soldiers in a row, Frenchmen, in horizon blue uniforms, all with eyes bandaged, walking with their hands touching the shoulder of the guy in front for direction. Poor chumps got gassed and couldn’t even see the Yanks coming to end this war.
We’re finally settled in for the night, if that’s what you call being wedged into the muddy wall of a six-foot trench. I’m so hungry right now all I can think of is taking out the belly wrinkles, as the fellas say. We’re eating in shifts, because there aren’t enough chow kits for everyone. We’re so short on everything I’m lucky to have a gun.
Beans and bread tonight. I wish I could say Pop’s cooking is bet
ter, but we both know that’d be a lie. Don’t tell him I said that. We’re using army forks. That means our fingers, if you’re wondering why there are food smears on this letter. So much for fancy perfumed paper. I sure am missing Mama Santoni’s home-cooked lasagna. Tell her to keep a pot of sauce simmering for when I get home.
From the sounds of things, we’re a ways off from the zone of advance. It sounds like a thunderstorm in the distance, with the rumble of cannons, and every so often the sky lights up like lightning. If I close my eyes, I can almost picture being in Manifest under a stormy June sky. Almost.
Sarge says we’re moving out first thing tomorrow morning. Zero hour, he called it. Guess this is what we came here for, so we might as well get it over with. Now I know why they kept Heck, Holler, and me together. We were the fastest guys at camp, along with a chap named Eddie Lawson. Sarge asked us to be runners—guys who sprint back and forth from regiment to base camp, getting orders and supplies. He said it was voluntary, but we weren’t about to turn it down. Eddie won the toss, so he’s out on his first run right now. He’s fast as the dickens. Plus he’s an ace of a guy. Can’t wait to hear if he saw any action.
From the trenches next to Holler’s widerlich footen,
Ned
Hero Abroad
JUNE 29, 1918
Eddie was killed last night. Shot just a mile from here. A mile. He could run that in a little over four minutes.
One Short, One Long
JULY 3, 1936
I’d read through so many news articles about the influenza that I’d started to feel achy and chilled myself. And in this July heat there was not a chill to be found. Then Ned’s letter went from sunny to sad so fast. That was when I knew I needed a break from looking at the past.