Clare Vanderpool - Moon Over Manifest

“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,” Lettie 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.

All three of us crawled into bed, one beside the other, listening to the sound of a harmonica in the distance. It was probably just a folk tune being played, but after Ruthanne’s story, it sounded like a mournful wail.

When Lettie and Ruthanne were quiet, I reached for the not-so-shiny Liberty Head silver dollar in my windowsill collection of mementos. I tilted it slightly to catch the glimmer of moonlight. It no longer surprised me to find connections between the articles in the box and Miss Sadie’s stories. Still, some things were a mystery. I thought of our stash of worms outside. The life churning in the bucket was a mystery. How did Miss Sadie know things like where to find worms in the moonlight? What happened to the man who lost his foot in Uncle Louver’s trap? Who or what was haunting the woods? Was it the Rattler? I put the silver dollar back in its place beside the Wiggle King lure.

These many questions swarmed in my head, leaving me restless and uneasy. But it was the look on Lettie’s face that night in the growing moonlight that made me wonder the most. The way she’d beamed when Ruthanne had asked her to sing us a song. I thought I knew a thing or two about people. Even had my list of universals. But I wondered. Maybe the world wasn’t made of universals that could be summed up in neat little packages. Maybe there were just people. People who were tired and hurt and lonely and kind in their own way and their own time.