Moon Over Manifest

Jinx sat to the side of the stage, his shoulder in a bandage and sling. Shady brought him a glass of punch. Together they watched children scampering about with glowing faces and eventually nodding off in their mothers’ arms. Ivan DeVore stole glances at Velma T. across the dance floor as he worked up the nerve to ask her to dance. Hadley Gillen was on the stage, playing first trumpet in the band. Hattie Mae, with no pen or paper in hand, looked splendid in a pink chiffon dress as she danced a waltz with Mr. Fred Macke.

Pearl Ann, home from college, served punch while Mrs. Larkin held court with a bevy of women. The ladies listened with rapt attention to the story of how Mrs. Larkin and the boy, Jinx, had cooked up the scheme of tricking Lester Burton into buying the springs and how it had been her idea not to tell anyone, including Shady, of their plans. Mrs. Larkin had done some theater work in high school. She had, in fact, played the lead in the senior class production of All on Account of Polly and was confident she could pull off her part, but felt they’d get a better performance out of Shady if he was unapprised.

People were smiling. Especially Mrs. Cybulskis, who sat to the side of the dance floor, holding a healthy new baby boy. The whole town was filled with the hope and promise that the hard times were behind them.

Until the army truck pulled in.

At first people thought it was just a latecomer to the dance. But when the young man, dressed in a crisp brown uniform, stepped out of his automobile, they knew otherwise. The music died out with a painful moan. The soldier made his way into the crowd. He showed a paper to Mr. Matenopoulos, who motioned toward the band platform.

Hadley stood, waiting for the news.

“Are you Mr. Hadley Gillen?” the soldier asked.

Hadley nodded.

The man spoke a few quiet words and handed Hadley an envelope. Hadley held the envelope for a moment, then passed it to Shady. “Read it, Shady. To all of us.”

Shady read.

“REGRET TO INFORM YOU, YOUR SON NED GILLEN WAS KILLED IN ACTION OCTOBER EIGHTH STOP HIS BODY RECOVERED IN ARGONNE REGION SOUTH FRANCE STOP LAID TO REST IN ST. DIZIER STOP PERSONAL EFFECTS TO FOLLOW STOP.”

A deathly silence became the music that reverberated throughout. The town of Manifest had loved Ned Gillen. And now the town of Manifest was crushed under the weight of that love.

But the boy, Jinx. It buried him.

PVT. NED GILLEN

OCTOBER 6, 1918

Dear Jinx,

Took a piece of shrapnel in the arm yesterday. Didn’t even see it coming, but it was just a scratch. So not to worry. Today was a good day. Whenever we quit running or fighting long enough to look around, France turns out to be a beautiful place. Seems like all we’ve been seeing lately is our own muddy green uniforms, so the bright fall leaves are like a colorful kaleidoscope.

Stopped for a spell today on the roadside. A group of fresh replacements sauntered past. Talk about colors. They were greener than green. Jaunty clean-cut fellas, walking like they had someplace to be. Heck, Holler, and me sat there, all of us thinking those boys reminded us of someone. Could it be someone from home? Was there still such a place? Then we realized it was us back in June. “Did we ever look like that?” I asked. Heck answered, “Yeah, when we were in the sixth grade.” Then, true to his name, Holler yelled out, “What’s your hurry, ladies? The senior promenade was last week.” In a bygone day, we’d have laughed one of those laughs that keeps going on after you forget what was so funny. But that doesn’t happen anymore.