"And, Ruthanne, a kind gesture on your part. As for the rest of you"-she shot an evil eye at the cla.s.s-"it would do you well to remember for next term that acts of charity and kindness are also taken into consideration in one's overall grade."

Charlotte's hand shot up again. "I'd be happy to help the poor girl, Sister." She gave me a pitiful look. "I'll even help her find some more suitable clothes. Something a little less traveled."

"That won't be necessary, Charlotte. I'm sure Abilene will have quite enough help. Now let us stand for prayer."

The cla.s.s stood and Charlotte flipped her hair around. "No matter," she whispered over her shoulder. "I'm spending most of the summer with relatives in Charleston. You know, South Carolina." She was suddenly talking with a Southern accent. "Pity, though. I would have thought clothing the poor in taste would have been a fine corporal work of mercy."

Snooty rich girl. A universal.

Fort Treeconderoga

MAY 28, 1936.

Fortunately, the last day of school was brief. Just long enough to hand out report cards and clean out desks. After lunch, when Shady said I could use the old tree house out back for having friends over, he was off on two counts. First, I didn't have any friends. Second, that conglomeration of half-nailed boards could hardly be called a tree house. Oh, it was in a tree, all right. Thirty feet up with nothing to climb on except skinny branches and a rope ladder that looked to be holding on for dear life.

But I'd spent part of the afternoon helping tidy up around Shady's place and now I wanted to be alone to look through the Lucky Bill cigar box I'd found under the floorboards. That tree house looked to be as alone as I could get. So I stuffed the box in my satchel and climbed, one creaky step at a time.

The daylight coming through the floorboards was enough to make me wish I had a little fat on me so I wouldn't slide right through to the ground. Inside, I looked out a jagged hole that was pretending to be a window. I could see everything from up there. The Manifest Herald Manifest Herald on one side of the hardware store, Koski's Diner and the Better Days Funeral Parlor on the other. Across the street were the bank, the post office, Dawkins Drug and Dime Store, Cooper's Barbershop, and the Curly Q Beauty Emporium. And those train tracks that Gideon was at the other end of. on one side of the hardware store, Koski's Diner and the Better Days Funeral Parlor on the other. Across the street were the bank, the post office, Dawkins Drug and Dime Store, Cooper's Barbershop, and the Curly Q Beauty Emporium. And those train tracks that Gideon was at the other end of.

Then I saw Lettie and Ruthanne run into Dawkins Drug and Dime. I'd stood on the outside, looking in, on my way home from school. It had a soda fountain and jars of lemon drops, licorice whips, and candy b.u.t.tons. I must have been steaming up the window, because a stern-looking woman, probably Mrs. Dawkins herself, had shooed me off. I wondered what treats those girls were getting. Maybe Gideon'd take me there when he came to get me. Again I felt a little off balance, like I'd felt in the newspaper office the day before. But who wouldn't feel a little wobbly in a rickety tree house so high above the ground?

Enough goosenecking. I had a look around the tree house, figuring what I'd haul up with me next time. Food, for one thing. I'd skipped lunch and the afternoon was heading from mid to late.

There wasn't much left in the tree fort from previous dwellers. Just an old hammer and a few rusted tin cans holding some even rustier nails. A couple of wood crates with the salt girl holding her umbrella painted on top. And a shabby plaque dangling sideways on one nail. FORT TREECONDEROGA FORT TREECONDEROGA. Probably named after the famous fort from Revolutionary War days. Anything else that might have been left behind had probably been weathered to bits and fallen through the cracks.

No matter. I'd have this place whipped into shape lickety-split. First off, I picked out the straightest nail I could find and fixed that sign up right. Fort Treeconderoga was open for business.

Kneeling in front of one of the crates like it was an altar, I opened the cigar box and let the contents tumble out. There was the map. Not a folded-up road map, but a homemade one on faded paper with worn edges. It was a hand-drawn picture of places around the town, labeled with names. Up top in a youthful hand were the words The Home Front The Home Front.

Then there were the keepsakes. Little things kept for the sake of something. Or someone. A cork, a fishhook, a silver dollar, a fancy key, and a tiny wooden baby doll, no bigger than a thimble, painted in bright colors, with a face and everything. To me they were like treasures from a museum, things a person could study to learn about another time and the people who lived back then.

Then there were the letters. I selected one and held the thin paper to my nose, wondering, hoping that I'd smell something of Gideon as a boy. Maybe smells like dog, or wood, or pond water. I felt like I was floating in my daddy's world of summer, and hide-and-seek, and fishing when I opened the paper and read the greeting. Dear Jinx Dear Jinx, it said in an unfamiliar penmanship.

My heart sank like a five-gallon bucket full of disappointment. The cigar box and letters didn't belong to Gideon. But I kept reading.

NED G GILLEN.

SANTA F FE R RAILWAY.

CAR NEXT TO CABOOSE.

JANUARY 15, 1918 15, 1918Dear Jinx,If my penmanship is a bit jiggly, it's because I'm writing to you from the train. I know you're sore at me for leaving but when you're older, you'll understand. Besides, I won't be gone long. Check in on Pop for me. He might need a little help at the hardware store.In the meantime, somebody's got to keep watch on the home front. With a war going on, you can't be too careful about spies. You've heard some of the fellas talking about someone rattling around in the woods at all hours. Just last month, Stucky Cybulskis and Danny McIntyre said they were out night fishing when they heard a rattling that sent their dogs into a tizzy. Stucky says his dog, b.u.mper, can sniff out spies just as well as racc.o.o.ns, but after sniffing around the woods, both dogs came back with nothing but a shank bone to show for their effort. Well, that rattling spy, he's probably digging up all kinds of secret information to give to the Germans, like what's the best time to catch night crawlers or which boys are sneaking out at night to go skinny-dipping.I wrote up a map for you so you'll know what's important, what you're protecting. Plus I left some mementos I know you've been eyeballing. My Liberty Head silver dollar, fishing lure, and skeleton key. But don't get any ideas. When I get back, which will probably be by the end of the summer, they are to be returned to their rightful owner. Me end of the summer, they are to be returned to their rightful owner. Me.So, remember, be on the alert. Keep your eyes and ears open. THE RATTLER is watching.Ned The yellowed paper felt brittle in my hands. Home front? Spies? Skinny-dipping? Home front? Spies? Skinny-dipping? I didn't know Ned or Jinx, but the words in the letter thrilled me. Their lives seemed full of adventure and mystery. I didn't know Ned or Jinx, but the words in the letter thrilled me. Their lives seemed full of adventure and mystery.

A girl's voice jolted me from my thoughts.

"Abilene. Yoo-hoo, Abilene. You up there?" someone called. "Shady said we'd find you in that tree house, but from the looks of it, you're likely to fall out at any minute."

I peeked out of the tree house, then pulled my head back quick. It was Lettie and Ruthanne. I had wanted them to come. I should have been glad they did. But I was still filled with disappointment about the letter's not being to Gideon and curiosity about Ned and Jinx and the spy known as the Rattler.

"I can't work on that a.s.signment just now," I hollered back without looking out.

"a.s.signment? It's the last day of school, for crying out loud," Lettie called. "The a.s.signment can wait. After all, everyone's on vacation."

"That's right. We just saw Sister Redempta wearing her wading habit down at the river," Ruthanne yelled.

I poked my head out. "You did?"

"No. But I bet that'd get you down from that tree house in a hurry." Lettie laughed.

I pulled my head back in, feeling a little foolish. Even if Sister Redempta had a wading habit, there probably was no water in the riverbed. "I'm busy right now."

"Okay. I guess we'll come up. You first, Soletta?"

"After you, Ruthanne."

I was sure they were just teasing me again, until I heard the creak and pull of the rope ladder. I tried to fold the map before they pulled themselves up. They were fast climbers.

"What're you doing up here?" Ruthanne poked her head up first and scrambled onto the platform.

I slipped the map and keepsakes back into the Lucky Bill box. "Nothing much. What are y'all doing up here? I really don't need help with that a.s.signment. Nope, I'll be long gone before Sister Redempta can la.s.so me with that rope around her waist. Besides, y'all probably have better things to do, like run off to the dime store or something." I didn't know why I was being so snippy. I guessed it was because Gideon had taught me not to be anybody's charity case.

"Well, as a matter of fact, that's where we just came from," Lettie said, reaching up for Ruthanne's hand. With her short curly hair, she looked like the salt girl on the crates, and she carried a red bandana knapsack on her back.

"We brought you something." She opened the pack and pulled out three lovely sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, three apples, and, my goodness me, three ice-cold Coca-Colas. At the same time, Ruthanne saw me clutching the letters.

"What are you hiding?" She s.n.a.t.c.hed them out of my hand.

"Give them back," I said.

"Are these letters from your boyfriend?"

My pride welled up like a blister ready to pop. I grabbed the letters. "I know why you're here. Y'all are the ones hoping to get noticed by the teacher or your parents for doing a good deed to the new girl. Well, I don't need no corpus works of mercy," I said, slipping into my new-girl-in-town way of talking. "So y'all can just find someone else to get your extra credit from this summer."

Seeing the looks on their faces, I almost busted out crying to be so mean.

They looked at each other as if silently agreeing which one would speak to me.

"That's just fine." It was Ruthanne. "But I'd like to point out that they're the corporal corporal works of mercy. You know, doing things like clothe the naked and feed the hungry. And we weren't doing them in the first place. But I think even Sister Redempta would agree there isn't one among them says anything about sitting in a tree house with the pigheaded. Isn't that right, Lettie?" works of mercy. You know, doing things like clothe the naked and feed the hungry. And we weren't doing them in the first place. But I think even Sister Redempta would agree there isn't one among them says anything about sitting in a tree house with the pigheaded. Isn't that right, Lettie?"

"That's right." Lettie was quietly putting the food and drinks back into the bandana.

"Nor one about running all over town collecting empty pop bottles for trading in to bring Coca-Colas to the ungrateful. We came up here to pay a visit and get acquainted. But it looks like you've got your own self to keep you company. Or y'all self or whatever it is you keep saying. Come on, Lettie. Let's go."

They both stood.

I wasn't sure what to say but knew it had better be something good and quick.

"You mean y'all don't say 'y'all'?"

They paused; then Ruthanne answered, sounding kind of disgusted. "No, we all don't say 'y'all.' That's two words. 'You all.' You might as well get that straight right now."

I cleared some dust off the floor with my foot. "Anything else I need to know? For while I'm here, that is?"

Lettie and Ruthanne looked at each other again, probably deciding if they could tolerate me another minute. They must've figured they could, because they sat back down and opened their parcel of sandwiches.

"Well," Lettie said while Ruthanne popped the bottle tops off with the hammer claw, "there's a river that when it's in Arkansas, you can say it like that. The Ar-kan-saw Ar-kan-saw River. But once it hits Kansas, it's called the Ar- River. But once it hits Kansas, it's called the Ar-kansas River. That's kind of important." River. That's kind of important."

"And there's a woman up the way who sits on her porch and stares. Don't let her look you in the eye or you'll turn to stone," Lettie said, as if that was on the same level of importance as how to p.r.o.nounce Arkansas Arkansas.

"And you might want to work on your grammar," Ruthanne added with a mouthful of egg salad sandwich. "It doesn't bother us any. Fact is, during the summer we all talk however we want. But come fall, Sister Redempta's kinda picky when it comes to 'don't need nos' and 'might couldas.' And as for that la.s.so la.s.so around her waist, it's not a la.s.so. It's a rosary and it's for praying on." around her waist, it's not a la.s.so. It's a rosary and it's for praying on."

I could tell it would take a while to learn the lay of the land. But that was okay. Those girls were real friendly, the Coca-Cola was going down good, and come fall I'd be long gone, I told myself, pushing aside the wobbly feeling I'd been having off and on.

I opened the cigar box. "You ever seen a spy map?" I asked.

Main Street, Manifest

MAY 28, 1936.

"An honest-to-goodness spy!" cried Lettie as the three of us crouched behind the wooden Indian in front of the hardware store. "Right here in Manifest! Why, I've never heard anything so exciting."

I kept the mementos hidden away in the cigar box, but showed them the first letter and the spy map. It might've been a little selfish of me, but I wanted to read the other letters by myself before letting Lettie and Ruthanne see them. Maybe there would be some mention of Gideon in those.

"The Rattler. That sounds as mysterious as the Shadow." Lettie took on the deep, dramatic voice everyone knew from the Sunday-night radio broadcast. "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows."

Ruthanne rolled her eyes.

"In fact," Lettie continued, "it's just like that episode a few months ago. A lady, she gets mysterious letters from her dead husband-well, they're not letters really, they're more like notes, because they don't come in the mail, they're just left under her pillow, and right before she goes insane-"

"Not now, Lettie," Ruthanne said. "The Rattler, whoever it was, could still be here, spying on us at this very minute."

"After all this time? The letter was written"-Lettie did the calculating in her head-"eighteen years ago. And I don't see how this map is going to help us." She looked over the paper. "It's just a map of Manifest, or at least Manifest as it was back in 1918. See here, that Matenopoulos Meat closed down forever ago."

The cousins' debate continued. Ruthanne said, "So, maybe it's a map of likely suspects and places the spy might frequent."

"Maybe he's dead by now. The Matenopoulos place is on there and Mr. Matenopoulos is dead."

"Maybe you shouldn't be such a stick-in-the-mud. Come on, let's scout around."

As we all got up, I figured Ruthanne had won. And from Lettie's skipping along beside us, I gathered she didn't mind.

We looked up and down Main Street, taking in store owners and pa.s.sersby.

There was the butcher, hanging up a big hunk of meat to cure outside his store. He pulled the fleshy meat hook and wiped it on his already b.l.o.o.d.y ap.r.o.n. The iceman whacked his spiky tongs into a block of ice and hoisted it out of his truck. The barber shook out his ap.r.o.n and wiped his razor blade clean. Thinking of spies and people going insane made everyone seem a little frightening.

They were like nameless men in a scary nursery rhyme-the butcher, the iceman, and the barber-until Lettie identified them as Mr. Simon, Mr. Pickerton, and Mr. Cooper.

We made our way into and out of a few stores, asking if anyone had heard of the Rattler. No one seemed inclined to shed any light on the matter.

"The Rattler could be any one of them," Lettie breathed. "But I still say the Rattler could be dead and buried by now."

"Or maybe not," Ruthanne said with authority. "Look."

It was the undertaker, all dressed in black, hauling a slab of granite into the Better Days Funeral Parlor.

"Maybe it's Mr. Underhill," Ruthanne whispered. "He's always itching to carve somebody a grave marker. Maybe he even killed a few bodies himself."

"The letter didn't say anything about murder. We're just looking for a spy, right, Abilene?" Lettie asked.

"Yes, but..."

"But what?" Ruthanne asked.

"Well, say there was was a spy. What do you think he was spying on?" a spy. What do you think he was spying on?"

Lettie and I looked at Ruthanne. She rolled her eyes and gave a sigh, like she was disgusted to have to explain something so simple. I figured she was just stalling till she could think up an answer.

"There was was a war going on, you know," Ruthanne said. a war going on, you know," Ruthanne said.

We kept staring.

"And in wartimes there's always secrets that need keeping from the enemy."

Still staring.

"So what makes you think Manifest didn't have a few secrets of its own that some spy might want to find out about?" Ruthanne asked.

Since Lettie and I couldn't come up with a better explanation, we shrugged and turned our eyes back to Mr. Underhill, who'd come outside. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked up at the cloudless sky.

"Look at him," Ruthanne said. "He's sniffing for death in the air."

A breeze picked up and when Mr. Underhill crossed the street, walking in our direction, I thought for sure he'd pluck one of us for that new grave marker. We backed into an alley and watched as he pa.s.sed by. He hunched forward and his arms didn't move as he walked. They just hung stiff by his side.

"Come on," Ruthanne whispered, and we all three took off after Mr. Underhill. He headed to the edge of town and skirted around the trees near Shady's place. Lettie stepped on a twig, snapping it in two, and Mr. Underhill turned around. We stayed still in the darkness of a tree until he moved on.

"Where's he going?" I asked.

"Where else would an undertaker go?" Ruthanne pointed ahead to the wrought iron fence that surrounded hundreds or maybe fifty or so graves. "Come on, there's an opening on the other side."

This was one of the universals I had so far avoided. In other places, I'd seen kids who followed their leader like blind mice, right into the carving hands of the farmer's wife. Being an outsider, I didn't usually fall under the leader's spell. But I'd never been on a spy hunt before. So here I was, traipsing after Ruthanne, enjoying the excited, scared feeling that made my spine shiver.