Clare Vanderpool - Moon Over Manifest

“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.”