Moon Over Manifest

“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.

Once again, I felt off balance, as if I was playing tug-of-war and the person I was tugging against let go.

Lettie, half asleep, sang, “Once I hit the tracks, my burdens at my back, I hopped that train in the pale moonlight.

” I admired how Ruthanne knew what I did not. That Lettie hadn’t had her fill of gingersnaps. With six kids in her family, she had more than likely given up her own cookie and traded something for an extra one to share with us.

The moonlight shone on the silver dollar and I thought of Miss Sadie’s story of Jinx and Ned. Of Uncle Louver’s ghost story. Of Lettie’s story about having had her fill. Of Ned’s letters and Hattie Mae’s “News Auxiliaries,” that I read like bedtime stories. And of Gideon’s story I was struggling to learn. If there is such a thing as a universal—and I wasn’t ready to throw all of mine out the window—it’s that there is power in a story. And if someone pays you such a kindness as to make up a tale so you’ll enjoy a gingersnap, you go along with that story and enjoy every last bite.

Yodel-ay-hee. Yodel-ay-hee. Yodel-ay-hee.

PVT. NED GILLEN

CAMP FUNSTON, KANSAS

MARCH 14, 1918

Dear Jinx,

Thanks for your letter. We’re shipping out soon. Troops already over there will be whooping and hollering to see us replacements show up. Heck, Holler, and me are in the same regiment. Guess they figured the Manifest championship track team should stay together. Soon as we send old Heine back to Germany, the other guys from the Manifest High class of ’18 plan to meet up at the Eiffel Tower with us to drink a toast. Tell Pearl Ann and the other girls not to be jealous of the mademoiselles. Their bonne boys in uniform will be home in time to take them to the homecoming dance in the fall.