"My soul and my shoes were all wore through, no money or job in sight,But once I hit the tracks, my burdens at my back,I hopped that train in the pale moonlight."

I couldn't help but join in.

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

We reached a clearing at the creek bed and studied the rocky, parched ground, and I imagined a time when this had been a lively stream that one could wade in for a swim. "There's cottonwoods all along here," Ruthanne said.

I touched the rough, heavy bark. "They look too old. She said a young young cottonwood." cottonwood."

"Then let's look for some volunteers that have sprouted up more recently. Besides, the moon isn't very bright yet. Come on. I'm getting hungry." She steered us toward a clearing in a grove of cottonwoods and elms, some not much bigger than saplings.

Ruthanne sat down, her back against a rotted tree trunk, and opened a knapsack. "I guess if we have to wait for the eye of newt and heart of toad to present themselves, we might as well get comfortable. What'd you bring?"

We had agreed that we would each bring some food to share during our outing. Ruthanne pulled out three liverwurst sandwiches. I produced a dusty jar of pickled beets I'd found in Shady's pantry. They wouldn't have been out of the running next to the liverwurst sandwiches, but then Lettie produced a tin with two cookies in it. She handed one to me and one to Ruthanne.

"Gingersnap!" I said, biting into one, its sweet spiciness giving me a thrill. "Where's yours?"

"I already had my fill. It was my sister Susie's birthday on Tuesday, and as a surprise we all agreed to go without eggs for breakfast this week so Mama could exchange them for sugar at the grocer's," Lettie explained. "She made a dozen gingersnaps."

"Here, have half of mine," I offered. Lettie took the half with some reluctance, I thought.

Ruthanne took one bite of her cookie, and then another. "Your mama sure makes a fine gingersnap. My mama always says she was born to manhandle a cast iron skillet but your mama was blessed with the lighter touch of a baker." Ruthanne ate the last of the cookie. "Sing us a song, Lettie."

Lettie beamed. "I lit out on a dark and dreary night...."

We were in no hurry, since Lettie and Ruthanne had gotten permission to spend the night with me at Shady's place. I hadn't been sure if they'd be allowed to stay over, what with Shady being...Shady. But it seemed their mothers had known Shady their whole lives and they said it was fine as long as we could stomach his burnt biscuits in the morning.

Lettie's song lulled us for a time. Then all grew still. We'd talked so much about Ned's letters and who the Rattler might be. It seemed like a good time to set our minds on other things.

"How's your story coming, Abilene?" Lettie asked. "The one Sister Redempta a.s.signed you?"

"I don't know. I don't really have a story to tell."

"Telling a story ain't hard," Lettie said. "All you need is a beginning, middle, and end."

"Hmm," I answered, wondering if it was that simple.

"It's so quiet out here," Lettie said, changing the subject.

I listened for sounds of birds or cicadas...or rattlers. Both the rattly spy kind and the slithery snake kind. "Do you think maybe there are snakes in these woods?" I asked.

"Snakes?" Ruthanne pondered the notion. "Uncle Louver says there's critters of all shapes and sizes out here. He tells quite the tale about goings-on in the woods."

I wasn't really up for hearing it, but judging by the way she stretched back and put her hands behind her head, I knew she was waiting to be asked.

"Maybe now's not the best time for that story, Ruthanne," Lettie said. "It's already kind of spooky out here."

"Go on," I said, pretending to stifle a yawn. "Let's hear it."

Ruthanne looked sideways at me, I guess gauging if my level of enthusiasm deserved her tale.

"Well," she began, "he was setting some traps-Uncle Louver, that is-when he hears a G.o.d-awful noise. He thinks it's a racc.o.o.n or maybe a possum, so he goes to check it out. By the time he realizes it's no critter, it's too late."

"Mm-hmm. Too late," Lettie echoed.

Ruthanne leaned forward. "He sees a man looking all afraid at something. His face all pale and eyes wide. That man was petrified."

"Pet-ri-fied," Lettie said.

"Of what?" I asked, my interest on the rise.

"The ghost. A big black ghost floating and rattling right towards that man. The fella's backing up, backing up. Then Uncle Louver hears one of his traps snap." Ruthanne clapped her hands together. "And things get quiet."

"What'd he do?" I asked. "Uncle Louver, I mean."

"He ran away. Fast as he could."

"Mama says Uncle Louver always was a bit skittish," Lettie added.

"Who was it? Who was caught in the trap?"

"That's just it." Ruthanne leaned back again, leaving a sufficient pause for the night sounds of the forest to fill in. "Never was a body found. He brought his brothers back to find it and there sat the trap, still snapped shut. All that was left was an old boot."

"That's right. An old, beat-up boot," Lettie said.

Then both girls said together, "And the foot was still in it."

I wasn't sure if they were fooling, but right then, in the darkness of those same woods, that image hung before me like the ghost itself.

"So the boot, the foot, what'd they do with 'em?" I asked.

Ruthanne continued. "Uncle Louver wanted nothing to do with it, in case the ghost came looking for it, so he buried it."

"Did anyone ever see the ghost again?"

"Oh, some would see a pa.s.sing shadow now and again, but they could hear it rattling around in the woods."

"Rattling?" I said. "What if that ghost and the Rattler were one and the same?"

"I suppose that's a thought." Ruthanne considered the possibility. "Uncle Louver says that sometimes, even now, he catches a shadowy glimpse of that figure going hither and yon, especially during a full moon."

As she said it, we realized the moon was full and brilliant above us.

"Look," I said.

"What? Did you find the eye of newt and heart of toad?" Ruthanne asked.

"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. N NED G GILLENCAMP F FUNSTON, KANSAS.

MARCH 14, 1918 14, 1918Dear 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 cla.s.s 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 bonne boys in uniform will be home in time to take them to the homecoming dance in the fall boys in uniform will be home in time to take them to the homecoming dance in the fall.And tell Velma T. thanks for the relief parcels she sent. There's some kind of bug going around that's waylaid half the camp with aches, fever, and chills. It started a few days ago, when one guy reported to the infirmary before breakfast, and today there are five hundred in makeshift beds all over the place. I've been taking an a.s.sortment of Velma T.'s home remedies. After my umpteenth trip to the latrine, I figured most of her elixirs are laxatives, but so far I'm holding up better than most before breakfast, and today there are five hundred in makeshift beds all over the place. I've been taking an a.s.sortment of Velma T.'s home remedies. After my umpteenth trip to the latrine, I figured most of her elixirs are laxatives, but so far I'm holding up better than most.All for now. Next time you hear from me, it'll be on some of that fancy perfumed paper from "over there."Ich habe widerlich footen (I have stinky feet) (I have stinky feet), NedP.S. We told Heck that means "Put down your weapon."

HATTIE MAE'S NEWS AUXILIARYMAY 30, 1918The recent commencement ceremony for the senior cla.s.s of 1918 was a momentous occasion and certainly brought back fond memories of my own graduation last year. However, by all accounts, this year's event was bittersweet, as some of the cla.s.s members were not present. You all recall the recent bon voyage celebration for the army recruits from the Manifest cla.s.s of 1918. It was a moving event as we said goodbye, though only for a time, to our brave lads. I thought it fitting to name them here, along with some of their activities.LUTHER (HECK) CARLSON Track and Field, Glee Club IVAN (HOLLER) CARLSON.

Track and Field, Cla.s.s Treasurer LANCE DEVLIN.

Track and Field, Football NED GILLEN.

Track and Field, Senior Play DOUGLAS HAMILTON.

Booster StaffHaving bid a fond farewell to our boys in arms, now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country. That means you, ladies! The Daughters of the American Revolution will be sponsoring a blanket drive, a bake sale, a letter-writing campaign, and much more. Thanks to Pearl Ann Larkin for organizing the effort before she heads off to college. Miss Velma T. Harkrader was going to enlist the aid of her chemistry cla.s.s in mixing up some of her "good for what ails you" elixir. (It seems the need is great at Camp Funston, as many of the soldiers are still battling the flu.) Unfortunately, she is having to produce her elixir at home, due to another freak mishap, which resulted in her cla.s.sroom windows being blown out. But thanks to everyone for your support. And for those of you who requested a printing of the special send-off cheer, it is as follows.Off to war and don't be late!

Here come the boys of one-nine-one-eight!(Special thanks to Margaret Evans, senior cla.s.s president, for writing the cla.s.s cheer, which I have adapted here. Permission granted for printing.)For all the whos, whats, whys, whens, and wheres, both here and abroad, refer to the Manifest Herald Manifest Herald. We've got sources we don't even know about.HATTIE M MAE H HARPER Reporter About TownOLD ST. JACK'S LUMBAGO LINIMENTDon't Moan About the Ache in Your Back.

Rub It Out with Old St. Jack.Back hurt you? Can't straighten up without feeling sudden pains, sharp aches, and twinges? That's lumbago or sciatica, or maybe you're just getting old. But whatever the case, Old St. Jack's is the liniment for you. Just have the little missus rub the ointment on your back and blessed relief will come your way. The ointment leaves a slight discoloration of the skin, but this gives a hearty glow, and it can be used on the face as well. Don't wait. Get your trial bottle of Old St. Jack's at your local hardware store, next to the varnish.

Miss Sadie's Divining Parlor

JUNE 13, 1936.

The next day was hot. I wasn't sure those worms were going to be happy with their new place, but they wiggled their way into that dry dirt like it was home sweet home. I figured they'd have to go down so deep to reach water that they'd come up on the other side of the world.

Miss Sadie seemed in a dark mood that morning. "Today you make rows. Not too deep. Not too wide. Dig." Her leg was red and swollen, so even her rocking on the back porch made her grit her teeth. And her bark made me grit mine.

Still, I'd been working up the nerve to ask her what the curse she'd laid on Mrs. Larkin was. The one that had left the county appraiser's wife in a tizzy. Lettie and Ruthanne weren't going to let it go until I found out.

"Um, m-ma'am?" I stuttered, not sure if she'd mind my having figured out she was the Hungarian woman in the story. Miss Sadie kept rocking. "That curse you popped on Mrs. Larkin?"

"Curse," she scoffed. "You believe everything that is told to you. Curses? Spies?" I jumped at her mention of spies. How did she know about that? I'd never even mentioned the Rattler to her. She may not have a bead on the future, but Miss Sadie surely had second sight when it came to the present.

"The only curse that woman bore was her own ignorance," Miss Sadie huffed.

"Well, what exactly did you say to her?"

"Ava grautz budel nocha mole."

I cringed as she repeated the phrase.

"It is Gypsy. It means 'May your life be as long as the hair on your chin.' And if you do not get busy, I will put an equally devastating curse on you."

I couldn't help grinning as I took up a shovel. Digging a square of dirt, then pitching it to the side, I hoped Miss Sadie's mood had lightened. It hadn't.

"No," she scolded. "You shovel like a diszno diszno. A pig. You cannot toss the ground aside like an old rag. Then it will not help you later. Use a hoe, there by the shed."

What kind of demon woman is she? I wondered as I gripped the hoe, scooping the dirt to one side and then the other, making a gully in the middle. That made me a bit cantankerous, because crazy as she was, I could see the sense in making a neat row of ground piled on each side to keep the moisture from running off. If ever the rain came. I wondered as I gripped the hoe, scooping the dirt to one side and then the other, making a gully in the middle. That made me a bit cantankerous, because crazy as she was, I could see the sense in making a neat row of ground piled on each side to keep the moisture from running off. If ever the rain came.

But time wore on, and as the dirt mingled with the sweat on my body, I felt strangely comforted by the chunk, chunk, chunk chunk, chunk, chunk of the hoe digging into the ground. I let the rhythm of it take me back to many a dusty ride in a freight car with Gideon. The two of us, listening to the of the hoe digging into the ground. I let the rhythm of it take me back to many a dusty ride in a freight car with Gideon. The two of us, listening to the chunk, chunk, chunk chunk, chunk, chunk of the track joints, lost in our own thoughts. of the track joints, lost in our own thoughts.

I continued with my list of what I knew about Gideon. He could start a campfire quicker than most. He always let out a contented breath after a first sip of coffee. And he liked to flip flapjacks high into the air.

I smiled at the thought, but a worried frown took over as I wondered what Gideon was doing right then. Maybe unloading twenty-pound sacks of flour from a boxcar. What if he'd been let go from his railroad job? Was he sidling his way into a diner, offering to work for food? He'd know that the man behind the cash box would turn him down, but on a good day, a man eating at the counter might buy him a sandwich and a cup of coffee. It always helped to have a little girl in tow. He needed me.

Or so I thought. What had changed? If there was ever a part of Gideon's life that needed divining, it was this. Why had he sent me away? As Miss Sadie liked to say, I'd have to dig deeper.

It had only been a scratch on my leg the day Gideon had started turning in on himself. It was April 12. I remembered because it was Easter and the day after my twelfth birthday, just two months earlier. We were in Shreveport, Louisiana. The Shreveport Gospel Mission Church was having an Easter supper for anyone who would come and listen to the preacher's sermon. The way he went on for two hours about sitting down to the Lord's great banquet and eating manna from heaven, we had our hopes set a little on the high side. So when they ran us through the chow line for a bowl of watery onion soup and stale bread, it was a disappointment. One weathered old hobo told the preacher that if he wanted more pilgrims on that road to heaven, they should pave it with pork and beans instead of onion soup.

That night we hopped the Southern bound for St. Louis. We were both in a mood. Hungry and tired, I sat with my legs dangling out the boxcar, catching a breeze, when a tree branch caught me on the leg. It nearly flung me from the car but I managed to stay on. Still, it gave me a good gash on the leg and we had to find a doctor.

Chunking up the dirt in Miss Sadie's yard, I could feel it grinding into the scar above my knee. The infection and fever had lasted three days. I didn't remember much other than frightful dreams and sweating clear through my nightgown and sheets. And Gideon's worried face beside my bed. When I finally came out of it, he looked at me like I was a different person from the little girl he'd known before. He kept saying I was growing up. I was becoming a young lady and other nonsense. I told him I hadn't seen the branch coming and it was just a scratch, but I guess he figured it would be easier traveling without me along to get into trouble.

"He thinks it is his fault," Miss Sadie said in her out-of-the-blue way.

The hoe nearly struck my foot. "Why would he think that?" I asked, not even bothering to wonder how Miss Sadie could know the thoughts swimming in my head.

"To see Ned get on the train and leave Manifest and the people who love him. Jinx thinks it is his fault."

"Oh," I said. "Yeah, I suppose it was Jinx's fireworks scheme that got Ned the twenty-five dollars he used to bribe that recruitment officer into letting him enlist underage. But Ned's the one who was so anxious to leave."

"When there is suffering, we look for a reason. That reason is easiest found within oneself." Miss Sadie held up her hand, shielding herself from the stark light of day.