Moon Over Manifest

Sheriff Dean leaned back, apparently not wanting to risk contact with a sweaty mustard pack. He crossed his arms over his belly and narrowed his eyes at Jinx. “You know, there’s a fella been seen hanging around these woods, camping down by the river not far from my house. He fits the description of one of those runaways the Joplin authorities are looking for. I saw him myself from a distance but he moved on quick enough. Only thing is, he’s supposed to be one of a pair.”

Jinx and Shady didn’t comment.

“Causes me to wonder why this fella would be coming around Manifest. Maybe he’s looking for his better half.”

“Maybe,” Jinx said.

“If you see a stranger around, you’ll let me know.” Sheriff Dean stepped to the side, studying Jinx from a different angle. “Course, you’re somewhat of a stranger yourself.”

Jinx stayed put.

“Truth is,” Sheriff Dean continued, his sharp knife peeling away layers of wood, “as I believe I mentioned before, the sheriff from Joplin happens to be my brother-in-law and he’s not too bright. If he let some ne’er-do-wells get away, that’s his own fault.” He stopped whittling and checked the blade against his thumb. Then he looked straight at Jinx. “But this is my town and I make the rules here. I’ll be watching you.” He paused to let his point sink in. “See that you stick closer to town. We don’t need the influenza spreading to the outskirts.”

“Yes, sir,” Jinx and Shady answered. They waited for the sheriff to leave, but he leaned back against the fence and whittled away at his block of wood. With a nod, Jinx and Shady continued on their way back to town. The sheriff wasn’t just keeping watch. It was a downright vigil.

A single candle lit Shady’s place, and the mood was equally dark. Small clusters of men huddled around tables, waiting for someone to speak.

“What are we going to do now?” asked Donal MacGregor. “With Sheriff Dean watching our comings and goings, you can’t just waltz in and out of town unnoticed.”

“And Lester Burton’s been phoning in twice a day to the switchboard,” said Ivan DeVore. “Checking to see if the men are well enough to go back to work. He won’t be satisfied somebody’s not fit to work until they’re dead and buried. And even then he’ll dock their past wages for not reporting to work.”

Jinx thought it strange that Burton was calling in. What news did he expect to find out? Who had he been talking to? And more importantly, who’d been talking to him? Of course not everyone in town had been apprised of the fake influenza before it happened. They just had to hope that the people in town during the quarantine were tired enough of the mine’s choke hold on them to go along with the scheme.

“What about the boy?” Hermann Keufer asked, somewhat accusingly. “Hasn’t he got another rabbit to pull from his bag of tricks?”

Suddenly, all eyes were on Jinx, who sat quietly on a stool behind the bar. Their faces reminded Jinx of Sheriff Dean’s warning. He had been identified as a stranger and felt his sense of belonging slipping away.

Shady sheltered Jinx again, this time from the stares of those waiting for yet another miracle. “We’ll have to just keep producing the elixir until we figure a way to distribute it again.”

There was an uneasy scraping and shifting of chairs on the dusty wooden floor. This time it was Donal MacGregor who came to the rescue.

“Now, come on. I’m sure we’ve all got better things to do than fuss and fidget around here all day. Let’s move along.” Like a mother hen, he gathered up his chicks, sometimes nudging, sometimes snapping, and shooed them out the door.

Donal remained in the entryway, as if posting himself sentry.

But Jinx slid quietly from his perch and left Shady’s place, letting the door swing shut behind him.

The mood in the town was already somber when the first death of the quarantine was reported a few days later. Mr. Underwood prepared a pine box and was quite put out when Donal said he would take care of the rest. The body would be buried out of town, they said, to keep the smell and germs away.

With shovels in hand, Shady, Jinx, and Donal MacGregor carried the casket out of town. Each sagged under the weight of their heavy task.

They reached the clearing, not far from the abandoned mine shaft, and took turns digging near an old craggy sycamore tree. Six feet down and four feet across. Late-afternoon shadows crept across the clearing as Donal threw out the last shovel of dirt. He wiped his brow and accepted a canteen of cool water Shady offered when Lester Burton emerged from the trees.

“I heard there’s been a death.”

“You heard that, did you?” Donal said. “Word sure gets around, even in a quarantine.”

“Who is it?” His abrupt speech indicated what the men already knew. Burton’s primary interest was in discovering if he’d lost a miner. And if so, was there a strong son of thirteen or fourteen left behind to take his place?

“Gourouni,” said Donal.

“Gourouni? I don’t know him.”