Moon Over Manifest

“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.”

Jinx looked sideways at Ned. He’d been awful moody of late. Ned must have noticed Jinx looking at him, because he said, “How’d you learn all this stuff? The shell game, the art of distraction? Arctic glacial water? And don’t tell me you picked it up from a hundred-year-old medicine man.”