Clare Vanderpool - Moon Over Manifest

“Care to take a ride on the carousel?” Ned asked.

Before she could answer, a high-pitched voice called from the bevy of quilter women: “Pearl Ann.” It was Pearl Ann’s mother, Mrs. Larkin. “Come along, dear.” Mrs. Larkin spoke with pursed lips and looked at Ned as if he was not fit to carry Pearl Ann’s luggage, let alone share popcorn with her.

“I don’t think your mother is too fond of me,” Ned said.

“She just doesn’t know you yet.”

“Yet? I’ve lived in Manifest most of my life.”

“To someone whose people have lived here for generations, that’s not that long.”

“Oh, so I have to have a pedigree going back to the time of George Washington.”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just that Mother doesn’t feel she knows a person until she knows their aunts, uncles, and second cousins twice removed. She just likes to have her ducks in a row.”

Ned’s shoulders stiffened. It was this whole notion of lineage and background that had sent him back into the mines for a second shift. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well, you’d have to row quite a ways to find my ducks somewhere in Italy, or France, or maybe Czechoslovakia, so that presents a problem, doesn’t it?”

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t care where you’re from,” she said softly.

“ Pearl Ann! ” Mrs. Larkin called again, this time with one eyebrow raised.

Just then, Arthur Devlin, wearing a dapper pin-striped suit and sporting a sleek black cane, approached Mrs. Larkin. He bowed and took her hand. “Good evening, Mrs. Larkin,” he said in a booming voice. “Or may I call you Eudora, as in our school days?” He winked as he kissed her hand. “Would you be so gracious as to accompany me on a stroll?”

“I’m afraid as president of the DAR, I really must distribute these quilt squares—”

“Come now, surely that can wait. My dear departed Esther always said, ‘Don’t do today what you can put off until tomorrow.’ ” He chuckled, turning Mrs. Larkin away from Pearl Ann and Ned, his large build cutting her off from view.

“It’s pretty clear that your mother cares about where a person is from,” Ned said.

Pearl Ann grimaced. “Who is it you want to take on the carousel? Me or my mother?”

Ned dug in his heels and didn’t answer.

“I see. Well, be careful going round and round on the carousel. Mother is prone to nausea.” Pearl Ann marched away from Ned and her mother.

“Hey, Benedetto. ” A young man snatched the paisley fabric from Ned’s pocket. “You getting your quilt square ready for the victory quilt?” It was Lance Devlin, the mine owner’s son, with a couple of his buddies. “Well, it’s good to see you’re doing your part for the war effort.” The boys, who normally sported their high school letter sweaters, were dressed in smart brown military uniforms and jaunty hats. They formed a half circle around Ned.

“Going to a costume ball?” Ned said, still smoldering.

“You didn’t hear? We signed up to do our bit. After all, somebody’s got to go over and fix the mess your folks got themselves into over there.”

“I didn’t know the army was so desperate that they’ve lowered their requirements in intelligence as well as age.”

“You mean because I haven’t had my eighteenth birthday yet?” Lance asked. “Yeah, well, it’s amazing how twenty-five dollars can help a recruitment officer overlook a thing or two. Maybe you should try it, Ned old boy, but then, company vouchers might not do the trick.”

“You’re right about that. The Devlin vouchers aren’t worth the paper they’re written on.”

“Tut-tut, Ned. You should be relieved that you won’t see me on the track this spring.”

“Oh, I am relieved.” Ned rubbed his neck. “I strained my neck last year running against you in the mile.”

“Really?” Lance looked a little pleased as well as surprised.

“Yeah, from craning my neck to see how far behind you were.”

The other boys in uniform snickered behind their hands. Lance Devlin got his face up close to Ned’s and tucked the paisley fabric back into Ned’s pocket. “Well, for now you’d better just stitch up your little quilt square and leave the fighting to us. Then again, maybe we should check to make sure you’re not stitching in some kind of spy message. You can never be too careful around those of unknown heritage. And your heritage is about as unknown as it gets, isn’t that right, Benedetto? ” Lance stepped back and spoke loudly. “For all we know, that might not even be your real name. Maybe it’s Fritz or Hans. C’mon, fellas.” He bumped Ned’s shoulder in passing.

Jinx walked up with some warm biscuits. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing.” Ned stole a glance at the army recruitment stand. “So a con is the art of distraction, huh?”

“Yes. Are you reconsidering my little pyrotectic plan?”

Ned squared his shoulders. “Sign me up.”

The first of December rolled around and all the quilt squares had been turned in—except one.

“But the deadline is today.” The Hungarian woman shook her quilt square, her bracelets jangling.

“I’m sure you must have misread.” Eudora Larkin peered through the screen door of her home. “The deadline has passed and the quilt is full. Besides, as president of the DAR, it is my responsibility to ensure the suitability of anything going before the president of the United States. Involvement of someone of your profession would be inappropriate, to say the least.”

“My profession?” the woman said, challenging her.

“Well, yes, you know, a fortune-teller. A caster of spells and curses.”

“Curses?” the woman repeated, her eyes blazing. “Keep your victory quilt. I give you a curse.” She pulled open the screen door. “ Ava grautz budel nocha mole. ”

Mrs. Larkin stepped back, cowering, as the screen door slammed shut. Then, trying to regain her composure, she said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake. It’s all poppycock.” She watched the woman walk away. “Poppycock, I tell you.”

Mrs. Larkin was so distressed by the woman’s curse that by New Year’s Eve she had dark circles under her eyes and was of an overall irritable disposition.

• • •

During the weeks leading up to the New Year’s festivities, Jinx and Ned were busy collecting empty cans and filling them with ingredients gathered from sources as varied as the hardware store, bakery, and mine supply.

After word had gotten out that the coveted Manchurian Fire Throwers were for sale, Jinx and Ned knew they could sell as many as they could make. The abandoned mine shaft Shady used for mixing hooch became a convenient hideout for a new shady endeavor. It was located on the long narrow stretch of land, owned by the Widow Cane, that ran alongside the mine. The shaft had been abandoned years before, when Devlin’s geologists had figured that the heart of the coal vein would be found farther west. For Jinx and Ned, it was a secluded area perfect for making fireworks.

Jinx carefully emptied black powder from his pockets into a large can.

“Whoa. Hungarian olives.” Ned read the label on the oversized canister. “Those must be some olives.”

“Yeah, I’ve been helping the Hungarian woman with some fence work and she gave me this one. It’ll be just the right size for the last of the TNT. Otis, at the mine, said even though a bottle of Shady’s hooch for two pockets of TNT is a bargain, he can’t risk Burton finding out.”

Ned shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Burton, Devlin, the whole mine has no trouble blasting through anything or anyone who gets in their way.”