Moon Over Manifest (7 page)

So far I wasn’t impressed.

“The boy, he is a stranger to Manifest.”

“Where is he now?” I asked, cutting to the chase.

“Silence. The spirits will not be rushed.”

Miss Sadie was working up a sweat. I’d had no idea it took such effort being a spirit conjurer. I stared, wide-eyed, as the diviner began.

“The boy, he is tired and hungry. He must act now. He must make a leap of faith.…”

Jinx watched the ground rush by in the late-afternoon light. He’d jumped from enough boxcars to know that the jumping was easy. It was the landing that could present a problem. Figuring that the cottonwoods along the creek would be as good a place as any to hide out for a while, he grabbed his pack and leaped.

Unfortunately, he saw the ravine from midair. Rolling and tumbling, he tried to keep his pack up so it wouldn’t bang on the ground like every other part of him. Finally, he stopped, then listened. He heard a girl’s voice just ahead.

“Ned Gillen, you have only one thing on your mind. If I’d known why you brought me out here … Why, I am a lady and I’ll have no part of it! And maybe you should find someone else to take to the homecoming dance.”

Jinx peered over the bush in front of him just in time to see a young woman raise her parasol and march off. A
boy—a young man, really—with olive skin and dark wavy hair was left holding a catfish hooked on a line.

After a moment, the boy stared into the catfish’s bulgy eyes and cleared his throat. “Pearl Ann, I apologize for compromising your femininity by exposing you to the rugged world of fishing. Would you please reconsider and do me the honor of accompanying me to the homecoming dance?” The fish stared back, unmoved.

Jinx was intrigued by the romantic scene developing before him, but was even more enamored with the catfish wriggling on the hook. He knew he should hop another train to put more distance between him and the events from the night before. The sound of the sheriff’s dogs barking and growling still rang in his ears. But his stomach was the one growling now. Jinx hadn’t eaten since the day before and could already smell that catfish sizzling on a spit.

“You’re going to have to do more than sweet-talk a fish,” Jinx said, emerging from the bushes.

Ned Gillen spun around, then relaxed when he saw that it was just a boy. “Is that right? And I suppose you would know in your, what, twelve years of experience with women?”

“Thirteen, and it’s not what I know, it’s what I have.” Jinx took a brown bottle, which had miraculously remained unbroken, from his pack. “You got all the right words to go after her, but you can’t go smelling like catfish and creek water, can you?”

Ned sniffed the fish and grimaced. “I suppose not.”

“What I have here will solve all your problems. It’s a cologne, aftershave, and mouthwash all in one. It comes
from the arctic glacial waters off the coast of Alaska. I got it from a hundred-year-old Eskimo medicine man.”

“And where did you happen to run into a hundred-year-old Eskimo?”

“I did some work at the docks in Juneau. At any rate, if it can make a polar bear smell good, just think what it can do for you.” Jinx jiggled the bottle. “Time is of the essence, my friend.”

“I suppose a little fresher-up wouldn’t hurt. But something tells me you’re not in the business of giving away arctic glacial water for free.”

Jinx pursed his lips. “I suppose we could make a trade. Say, that catfish for this bottle. That is, unless you’re getting kind of sweet on her.”

Ned grinned and unhooked the fish, revealing a green and yellow spotted fishing hook. He held up the lure. “It’s brand-new. They call it a Wiggle King. So colorful it’ll catch a blind fish. Anyway, I doubt that concoction is worth the fish and the lure.” He handed over the fish and took the bottle.

“I’ll take good care of her,” Jinx said as Ned left.

The October night was still and mild as Jinx stretched out by the fire in his shorts, his belly full of catfish. He’d rinsed out his clothes earlier to lessen their scent and hung them from a tree to dry. Jinx was exhausted, but knew he should get moving. He’d hop the next train and head wherever it took him. Still, he reasoned, it might be a while before the next train came by. And he was close enough to the tracks to listen for the chug of an engine. So he eased himself into
the cool creek, letting the dust and grime from there to here wash away.

His uncle Finn had suggested they split up in Joplin. They’d be harder to track if they were separate. Maybe that was the best thing to come out of the whole mess. Even on the run, Jinx felt a sense of freedom, and for the first time, he felt like he could make a fresh start. Still, it was hard to make a fresh start when there was a dead body in your past. It had been an accident. But Finn had said no sheriff would believe that, and his dogs wouldn’t care.

Jinx leaned back in the water, letting the creek flow through his hair and between his fingers. The current gently pulled him and he gave in to it. Maybe he’d go to Denver or San Francisco. Someplace where no one would notice a kid on the run. Someplace even his uncle Finn couldn’t find him. But the blissful thought vanished as a figure splashed nearby. Cussing and muttering, someone was frantically scrubbing his hair and face.

It was that fellow Ned. Uh-oh, Jinx thought, noticing that Ned’s build was strong and tall compared to his own shorter, wiry one. Jinx knew he should have moved on long before then. Unfortunately, Ned spotted him.

“Why, you little … Arctic glacial water, you said. Makes a polar bear smell good, does it? It smells, all right, and I’m sure Pearl Ann would agree.”

Before Jinx could retreat, Ned had him by the arm and looked about to drown him or punch him, or both. Then a gunshot went off. Both boys froze.

“Get your clothes and come with me,” Ned said.

To his own surprise, Jinx obeyed. But when he went
back to the tree where he’d hung his clothes, they were gone. Only his shoes and the socks stuffed in them were left. He ran back to catch up with Ned, who was also dressed in dripping shorts and holding only his shoes.

“They must’ve taken our clothes,” said Ned. “Come on.”

Whoops and hollers filled the night air. Jinx followed Ned about thirty yards up the creek. The two crouched low to the creek bed, still dripping and bare. As they peeked over the bank, heat from a bonfire struck them like a train. They saw greetings being passed from one man to the next. Hands were shaken and backs were slapped. Everything was Brother this and Brother that. It could have been a church meeting if not for the white hoods and cloaks. The scene made Jinx shiver.

“They’re using our clothes for kindling.” Ned pointed to the bonfire. A hooded figure tossed their shirts into the crackling blaze while another laughed.

“Why would they want to burn our clothes?”

“They’re drunk and they’re mean. That’s a dangerous combination.” Ned pulled Jinx away from the bank. “Let’s get out of here. Besides, I still have a debt to settle with you.”

“But who are they? And why do they wear sheets and hoods?” Jinx whispered. He’d already caught a whiff of Ned’s glacial scent and was in no hurry to settle that debt. The so-called glacier water smelled one way in the bottle and a lot different once it hit a person’s skin. But usually, Jinx was long gone by then.

Ned looked at Jinx like he was born yesterday. “Geez, kid. You’ve been in Alaska too long. They call themselves the Ku Klux Klan and they hate pretty much everyone who
isn’t like them. If you have the wrong color, religion, or birthplace, they don’t like you. Around here it’s mostly foreigners they hate.” Ned’s face flushed with anger.

“They wear hoods because they don’t want anyone to know who they are. Like that one with the crooked arm who threw the clothes in the fire. That’s Buster Holt. He’s a knacker. A fella who carts off dead animals. He hates foreigners, but he doesn’t mind taking their money to pick up their dead cows and horses. The other one, laughing like a girl, that’s Elroy Knabb. He’s one of the bosses at the mine, but if his wife found out he was here drinking and carousing—well, let’s just say Mrs. Knabb is wicked with a rolling pin.”

Just then, two other men stepped away from the fire and took off their hoods.

“Who are those two?” Jinx asked, his eyes wide. “And how come they took their hoods off?”

“The big one’s Arthur Devlin. He’s the grand knight. And he owns the mine. The other one is his pit boss, Lester Burton,” Ned answered, his voice charged with anger. “Devlin doesn’t care who sees him, because he doesn’t have to answer to anybody. They all answer to him. Around here, whoever owns the mine pretty much owns the town. Everybody has to come crawling to him, his mine, his company store. And believe me, with his wages and his prices, he makes sure you stay on your knees.” Ned took a slow breath and whispered, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Ned moved away and Jinx followed. “Be careful, kid. There’s poison ivy along the bank. Let’s wade downstream and get out at that clearing.”

They glided quietly through the shallow water, holding
their shoes in the air. Sounds of tree frogs and cicadas filled the still night.

“Listen,” Jinx said, “maybe we can work out a deal.…”

“Shhh.” Ned held up his hand. They heard voices several yards ahead. Two men splashed water from the creek onto their faces.

“Must be a hundred degrees up there,” a big man said, kicking off his shoes.

“Hotter than Hades, I’ll say,” the other agreed, his bald head shining in the moonlight. “This ain’t much of a rally. I went to one in Arkansas that makes this one look like a marshmally roast.”

“Yeah, well, what do you expect from a place that’s made up of a bunch of foreigners? They come here and can’t even speak good English.”

“I hear there’s enough Irish, French, and I-talians around these parts to have us some fun tonight.” The big man staggered out of the water. “That chili’s kicking in. I gotta see a man about a dog first.” He plopped down on the muddy bank, trying to get his shoes back on.

“Who’s he talking about?” Jinx asked.

“Foreigners, kid. Immigrants. People who come from another country. That’s most of the people in Manifest. The whole town is made up of immigrants who came here to work the mines.”

Jinx detected a note of personal injury in Ned’s voice. “Where are you from? I mean, where were you born?”

Ned paused before answering. “Truth is, kid, I don’t know. Darnedest thing, right? Seems like a person should know where he was born. Where he’s from and who his
people are. But I came here on a train when I was real young. Hadley Gillen adopted me and this is the only home I can remember.” He squinted, as if trying to peer into his past. His vision must have been too fuzzy and he shook it off. “The way I see it, those two fellas are the foreigners and I’d like to put a burr in their britches before they get too comfortable around here.”

Jinx saw a chance at redeeming himself. “I’ll be right back.”

Ned shook his head but Jinx slipped noiselessly out of the water. A couple of tense moments passed before he returned.

“Here, put this on.” Jinx held out a white cloak to Ned, then put one on himself.

“Where’d you get these?”

“Those two guys in the creek. They won’t miss them for a while. Besides, you said you wanted to put a burr in some britches. Well, here’s your chance.” Jinx held out a handkerchief full of three-pronged leaves.

Ned shook his head but couldn’t help grinning. He looked at the large man still trying to put his shoes on. “You’re crazy, kid,” Ned said to Jinx, “but I like your way of thinking.”

They put on their shoes, donned the white hoods, and hoisted themselves over the bank. Like flies in a Venus flytrap, they were immediately swallowed up by the crowd of more than fifty men. The point on Jinx’s hood fell short of those around him and the bottom of his robe brushed the ground.

Ned and Jinx maneuvered their way casually through
the sea of white. They peeked through the eyeholes in their hoods, trying to see over shoulders and around big bodies, moving toward the far side of the camp. Suddenly, a wiry man stood hoodless in front of them, wagging his cigar. It was Lester Burton, the mine pit boss. Their path was blocked.

“Well, lookie what we got here,” he said in a gravelly voice.

Jinx took a step to the right but Burton grasped his shoulder. Ned, a few years taller, stepped closer to Jinx. Whatever happened now, they were in this together.

“Got us a babe in the woods,” Burton said as a few hooded figures gathered around.

Jinx’s hands were sweating. If they could just get around these men … He straightened up tall. “Yeah, this is only our second rally. Our dad took us to one all the way down in Arkansas, ain’t that right, Cletus?”

“Arkansas?” Ned repeated, a little slow on the uptake.

“Yeah, they sure know how to do things down there, ain’t that right, Cletus?” Jinx was more insistent this time, hoping Ned would catch on.

“Uh, that’s right, Emmett. That was quite a rally down in Arkansas. ’Bout twice the size of this one, don’t you reckon?”

“I’d say that’s about right. Course that wouldn’t be counting the women.”

“Women?” This seemed to rile one of the hooded men. “They got women in the Klan down in Arkansas?”

“Why, sure they do,” Jinx said. “Who do you think puts the hems in all their white sheets?”

All eyes descended to the bottoms of the men’s cloaks.

“See there?” Jinx pointed. “You got raggedy bottoms. I’d say you boys could learn a thing or two from the folks down in Arkansas. Wouldn’t you say, Brother Cletus?”

“I’d say so, Brother Emmett. Come on. I think I hear Pa calling us. Coming, Pa.”

They left the men gazing downward and made a beeline to the far side of the camp.

“Over there.” Jinx nudged Ned toward a dilapidated cabin that looked long abandoned. The nearby outhouse apparently stood in good stead, since six or seven men waited in single file.

The boys fell in line and Jinx hopped around enough that three men let him move ahead. It was dark inside, but he easily found the leaves wrapped in his handkerchief. Making appropriate grunts and sighs, he grabbed a stack of newspaper scraps and dropped them into the open hole. Careful not to touch the leaves, he left them in place of the paper, remembering a well-known rhyme: