Part 4 (2/2)

”I hear there's enough Irish, French, and I-talians around these parts to have us some fun tonight.” The big man staggered out of the water. ”That chili's kicking in. I gotta see a man about a dog first.” He plopped down on the muddy bank, trying to get his shoes back on.

”Who's he talking about?” Jinx asked.

”Foreigners, kid. Immigrants. People who come from another country. That's most of the people in Manifest. The whole town is made up of immigrants who came here to work the mines.”

Jinx detected a note of personal injury in Ned's voice. ”Where are you from? I mean, where were you born?”

Ned paused before answering. ”Truth is, kid, I don't know. Darnedest thing, right? Seems like a person should know where he was born. Where he's from and who his people are. But I came here on a train when I was real young. Hadley Gillen adopted me and this is the only home I can remember.” He squinted, as if trying to peer into his past. His vision must have been too fuzzy and he shook it off. ”The way I see it, those two fellas are the foreigners and I'd like to put a burr in their britches before they get too comfortable around here.”

Jinx saw a chance at redeeming himself. ”I'll be right back.”

Ned shook his head but Jinx slipped noiselessly out of the water. A couple of tense moments pa.s.sed before he returned.

”Here, put this on.” Jinx held out a white cloak to Ned, then put one on himself.

”Where'd you get these?”

”Those two guys in the creek. They won't miss them for a while. Besides, you said you wanted to put a burr in some britches. Well, here's your chance.” Jinx held out a handkerchief full of three-p.r.o.nged leaves.

Ned shook his head but couldn't help grinning. He looked at the large man still trying to put his shoes on. ”You're crazy, kid,” Ned said to Jinx, ”but I like your way of thinking.”

They put on their shoes, donned the white hoods, and hoisted themselves over the bank. Like flies in a Venus flytrap, they were immediately swallowed up by the crowd of more than fifty men. The point on Jinx's hood fell short of those around him and the bottom of his robe brushed the ground.

Ned and Jinx maneuvered their way casually through the sea of white. They peeked through the eyeholes in their hoods, trying to see over shoulders and around big bodies, moving toward the far side of the camp. Suddenly, a wiry man stood hoodless in front of them, wagging his cigar. It was Lester Burton, the mine pit boss. Their path was blocked.

”Well, lookie what we got here,” he said in a gravelly voice.

Jinx took a step to the right but Burton grasped his shoulder. Ned, a few years taller, stepped closer to Jinx. Whatever happened now, they were in this together.

”Got us a babe in the woods,” Burton said as a few hooded figures gathered around.

Jinx's hands were sweating. If they could just get around these men...He straightened up tall. ”Yeah, this is only our second rally. Our dad took us to one all the way down in Arkansas, ain't that right, Cletus?”

”Arkansas?” Ned repeated, a little slow on the uptake.

”Yeah, they sure know how to do things down there, ain't that right, Cletus?” Jinx was more insistent this time, hoping Ned would catch on.

”Uh, that's right, Emmett. That was quite a rally down in Arkansas. 'Bout twice the size of this one, don't you reckon?”

”I'd say that's about right. Course that wouldn't be counting the women.”

”Women?” This seemed to rile one of the hooded men. ”They got women in the Klan down in Arkansas?”

”Why, sure they do,” Jinx said. ”Who do you think puts the hems in all their white sheets?”

All eyes descended to the bottoms of the men's cloaks.

”See there?” Jinx pointed. ”You got raggedy bottoms. I'd say you boys could learn a thing or two from the folks down in Arkansas. Wouldn't you say, Brother Cletus?”

”I'd say so, Brother Emmett. Come on. I think I hear Pa calling us. Coming, Pa.”

They left the men gazing downward and made a beeline to the far side of the camp.

”Over there.” Jinx nudged Ned toward a dilapidated cabin that looked long abandoned. The nearby outhouse apparently stood in good stead, since six or seven men waited in single file.

The boys fell in line and Jinx hopped around enough that three men let him move ahead. It was dark inside, but he easily found the leaves wrapped in his handkerchief. Making appropriate grunts and sighs, he grabbed a stack of newspaper sc.r.a.ps and dropped them into the open hole. Careful not to touch the leaves, he left them in place of the paper, remembering a well-known rhyme: Ivy on the vine, two leaves on a stem are fine, Pick up one with three, and itching you will be.

”Come on, son. We're backed up out here,” came a holler from outside.

”Yeah, we're backed up something fierce,” Ned yelled.

Jinx opened the door. ”I guess leaves'll do in a pinch, but can't you boys afford any newspaper or something? Let's go, Cletus.”

The boys sauntered away, Jinx yelling over his shoulder, ”They got toilet paper in Arkansas.”

A Bargain Is Struck

MAY 29, 1936.

Miss Sadie looked to be done for the day. Her voice had gotten raspy toward the end of her fortune-telling and she breathed like she'd been carrying something heavy.

I wanted my dime back. ”I said I wanted to know about my daddy. That was just some old story from twenty years ago about two people I don't even know.”

Her eyes narrowed a bit and she raised her chin as if she had just figured me out. ”You show me a letter. I tell you what the letter shows me.” She wagged a finger. ”Next time you should be more specific about what it is you are seeking.”

I didn't plan on there being a next time. So she'd told a story about Ned and Jinx. A made-up story about two names she read in the letter. I pictured the yellow and green fis.h.i.+ng lure in the Lucky Bill cigar box. She knew the mementos I had and she'd zeroed in on the fis.h.i.+ng lure mentioned in the letter to conjure her story. Anybody could do that.

I looked at Miss Sadie sitting there, her leg propped up. She was a pathetic sight. What kind of purveyor of the future could only tell stories from the past?

”Go home,” she said. ”Communing with the spirits is a privilege. I have ointment on the top shelf, just behind the baking soda, above the icebox. But I will get it myself.”

She sure gave good directions if she was planning on getting it herself.

”I'll get it,” I said with no small amount of reluctance. ”Long as you don't charge me another dime for the privilege. privilege.”

I maneuvered my way through the maze of velvet and fringe into her pantry and retrieved the nearly empty jar of salve. I gave it a whiff and nearly singed my nostrils.

”What is this stuff?”

”Hawthorn root,” she said, scooping out the remainder and rubbing it onto her leg. ”It helps to increase circulation.” She moaned a little, ma.s.saging her swollen leg. It was then that I could see the wound that was causing her so much distress.

”What happened to your leg?” I asked with a grimace.

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