My confidence was seeping out of me like water through a bucket full of holes. I wished Lettie and Ruthanne could go with me, but they had eggs to sell. Besides, it was my debt to work off. "I broke her pot and I want to get my compa.s.s back. It's as simple as that. I'll meet you at Hattie Mae's later on."

I took my leave with all kinds of frightful images rolling around in my head. Miss Sadie's house seemed lifeless, as there was no breeze to give breath to her wind chimes. So I was glad when I found her out back and she said she'd have me working in the garden that day, although calling it a garden required a whole lot of imagination. Mostly what I did was break up clods of dirt. Miss Sadie sat in a metal patio chair, smoking a corncob pipe and giving me instructions on how to put my weight into that shovel to turn up the dirt.

Just what she figured on planting in that parched earth, I couldn't reckon. It reminded me of sermons I'd heard from priests and preachers about planting in dry soil. Those seeds would just wither up and blow away, never taking root.

"Deeper. Dig deeper," Miss Sadie said in her rich voice. "The ground should not merely cover the seed. It must embrace it."

"What kinds of things do you plan on growing here, if you don't mind my asking?"

Miss Sadie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She sniffed the air around her, as if it would give her the answer. "It is not yet clear."

I took a whiff too, but all I smelled was dirt. Dry, dusty dirt. Seemed like that was all there'd ever been. Oh, I had a vague notion of green gra.s.s, soft and wavy. Before Gideon and I were on the road, he'd worked as a groundskeeper at the Maple Grove Park in Chicago. I was three or four and we'd lived at a boardinghouse across the street. I thought there had been swings, but I had been so young and the memories were so distant that it could have been a dream.

"I wonder what it was like before the world went dry," I said, looking up into the sun.

"The world? Pah. What is it you know of the world?"

"I know that any place I've been to is dead dry."

"I suppose. But what appears to be dead can still hold life." Her voice sounded small and far away. That day she wore a light housedress instead of her velvety fortune-teller garb, but it seemed like she was fixing to go into another one of her trances anyway. And since my back was aching for a chance to stretch out, I decided to help her along.

"So, what about that Klan rally?" I asked. I'd heard of really bad things Klan folks did to Negroes. Mean, hateful, deadly things. I didn't know they were hateful toward white folks too.

"They think they hide their hate behind a mask," she said, her accent thick, "but it is there for all to see."

"And the boy whose girl got sore at him over the fish? And his friend?" I asked, pretending to be disinterested enough not to remember their names. "What happened to them?"

"Ned and Jinx," she answered. "They are a match from the start. Jinx is c.o.c.ky and streetwise. He knows a con for every day of the week. But he knows little of friendship and home. Ned provides both. He takes Jinx to Shady's place, where many a wayward soul is welcome and no questions are asked."

So Jinx must've been the one who'd hidden the letters and mementos under the floorboards at Shady's house. "I'll say. My money's betting that Shady ran a speakeasy. He's got the perfect setup to have run one of those secret saloons with the hidden cabinets and movable bar top for hiding illegal alcohol away when the law would come calling." I spoke of it as if it was only in the past, but from what I'd gleaned of Shady, I wasn't so sure. I waited for Miss Sadie to confirm or deny.

"Shady and Jinx share something in common. They both have dealings they are reluctant to reveal," Miss Sadie said, not telling me if I'd win my bet. "It is clear Jinx runs from something, but Shady asks for no explanation." I figured that was about as much answer as I was going to get. "It is not the first time he takes in a stranger in need. But, he says, Jinx must attend school. Sister Redempta takes him into her cla.s.sroom."

"I bet she plopped an a.s.signment on him right off the bat too."

"It is possible. In a town of immigrants, new students come all the time."

"Is that how Ned got here?" I asked, wanting to stretch out my stretching out.

Miss Sadie breathed in again. "He comes to America on a boat, yes. But to Manifest, he comes by train. A train for orphans. He stays with the Sisters for a time. Sister Redempta cares for him. But he is a little boy, five years old, of undetermined nationality, so he belongs to all the people. Of course, it is Hadley Gillen, the widower hardware store owner, who adopts him as his own. But the town grows to love the boy and imagine that his future can be theirs as well."

It got quiet as Miss Sadie lingered in the past. The heat took over me like a dream. A hot breeze seemed to conjure up exotic smells and faces of colorful people. People who had come from their various parts of the world to build a better life.

I stretched out my body under the willow tree, my face feeling cooler in its shade. Somehow, I felt like I was one of those people. Someone taken out of one place and put into another. A place where I didn't belong. Why did my daddy really send me here? Why did my daddy really send me here? I wondered. "Why here?" I wondered. "Why here?"

"The coal mines." Miss Sadie answered my question that I didn't realize I'd asked out loud. "People need work and the mines need workers. It sounds like a good match, but most do not realize the mines will consume them." It took me a minute to realize she wasn't talking about Gideon or me but about the people of Manifest years ago. She was heading into another story and I hadn't even paid her a dime. Miss Sadie must have figured that since she wasn't getting paid, she wouldn't put on quite as much of a show as before. This time she left off all the divining gyrations and jingle-jangle antics and just started her story, plain and simple.

"The mine whistle was the sound that brought us together. And kept us apart at the same time...."

The Art of Distraction

OCTOBER 27, 1917.

The shrill whistle of the Devlin Coal Mine signaled the end of one shift and the beginning of another. Jinx gripped the handlebars of a dilapidated bicycle and shuddered in the midmorning breeze as he waited for Ned to emerge from the mine shaft.

Three weeks had pa.s.sed since Jinx had jumped the train near Manifest, but for him, it seemed a lifetime. He had come to a community where strangers arrived every day, from places farther away than the next state over. He knew he might be fooling himself into thinking that he could stay. That he could leave his past behind. But he'd met Ned and was living with Shady. He was going to school. Leading a normal life. And for now, he felt safe.

The shaft elevator strained and heaved its way slowly out of the ground. A tall wooden shack housed the cage elevator, which carried miners one to two hundred feet underground, where they would disperse into various dugouts called rooms, each supported by a single wooden pillar. Here the miners worked their eight-hour shifts, picking out the coal, loading it into a cart, and hauling it back out.

That day, as the rickety cage elevator surfaced, a group of soot-covered faces emerged, only to be replaced by a waiting group of men ready to go below.

As one looked at them, all carrying their metal lunch boxes and wearing their denim overalls and miner's helmets with gas lamps attached, it was difficult to distinguish one man from the next, one group from another. However, when they spoke, it became clear the Italians were ending their shift and the Austrians were beginning.

That was the way Devlin preferred it. Keep each to his own kind, speaking his own language, and everyone would stay in his place. The men coming out of the ground, squinting against the daylight, were like dead men rising out of a grave. They walked in somber formation to the water pump to wash.

That day was unusual in that Mr. Devlin himself stood near the mine elevator. Jinx hadn't seen him since the night of the Klan rally and felt himself draw back a bit at the sight of the grand knight. Of course now there was no white hood or cloak. Mr. Devlin was dressed in a large pinstripe suit and an immaculate celluloid collar. His slicked-back hair glistened in the sun as he appeared to be having a heated discussion with the mine geologist.

Jinx was relieved when Ned finally emerged from the elevator cage with the Italian crew. He walked his bike over to join Ned in line at the water pump. Ned removed his miner's hat, revealing his sweaty hair and white forehead against his otherwise soot-blackened face. He eyed the two men arguing. "What are they going at it about?"

"Something about the direction of the vein," Jinx answered. "Seems the coal vein took a turn it shouldn't have and now it's going the wrong way. I think the geologist is about to get the boot."

"Oh, well," Ned said. "Let 'em argue. Where'd you get that contraption?" he asked, motioning toward the bicycle.

"Shady won it in last night's poker game. Want to take it for a spin?"

"Can't." Ned pumped fresh water and washed his face and hands. "My legs are aching to be stretched after being cooped up for eight hours. I might just run from here to Erie and back."

Several other mine workers stood around, waiting for their weekly pay.

"Benedetto. You working too much," Mr. Borelli said, using his Italian nickname for Ned. "Study. Learn. You go to college."

"Yes, sir. I hope to go on a track scholarship next year."

"Good, good." He patted Ned on the back. "You run hard and study harder. Then you'll not have to go work underground to feed your family. Man was not meant to spend his days in the dark, eh, Vincenze?"

Mr. Vincenze wiped his face with a handkerchief. "C'e un inferno oggi!" he answered.

"S, s s. It is a hot one today," Mr. Borelli answered. He patted Mr. Vincenze along, then whispered to Ned and Jinx. "He speaks no English. These mines. They keep us in the dark in more ways than one."

Just then, Lester Burton, the pit boss, stepped among them and nailed a notice to a post near the water pump. The letters were big and bold enough to be read from several feet away.

BY WAY OF PUBLIC NOTICEAMERICAN DEFENSE.

SOCIETY WARNINGEvery German or Austrian in the United States, unless known by years of a.s.sociation to be absolutely loyal, should be treated as a potential spy.Be on the alert. Keep your eyes and ears open. Take nothing for granted. Energy and alertness may save the life of your son, your husband, or your brother.The enemy is engaged in making war in this country, transmitting news to Berlin, and spreading propaganda and lies about the condition and morale of American military forces.Whenever any suspicious act or disloyal word comes to your notice, communicate at once with Fred Robertson, United States district attorney, Kansas City, Kansas, or the American Defense Society, 44 East Twenty-third Street, New York City.

Burton turned his sun-splotched face to the men. "In wartime, that spy could be your neighbor. The chump sitting next to you at the pool hall or even at church." He looked straight at Ned. "Could be anyone of unknown or questionable background. Be alert and trust no one. Got it?"

There was a stir among the crowd. Mostly men asking for a translation from the few who could speak some English.

"Good." Burton fanned a stack of envelopes. "Borelli," he called out. "Servieto. Vincenze."

One by one, the men took their pay and drifted away like shadows.

"Gillen." Ned stepped forward to receive the last envelope.

Burton held out the envelope only to pull it back as Ned reached for it. "So you plan to go to college, eh?"

"That's right."

"Looks like studying's going to be a tight squeeze working double shifts."

"Sir?"

"That's right. There's been a bit of a mix-up. We need to dig out a new room and Weintraub's out with a broken leg. You'll go in for him."

"But I just worked a full shift."

"Strong kid like you, shouldn't be a problem. I suppose we could call in your old man. I recall seeing an unpaid balance on the Hadley Gillen account at the Devlin Mercantile. He might want some extra work in case a 'payment in full' notice comes due. Think about it."

Burton handed Ned his pay envelope and walked off.

"That's not fair," Jinx said. "There's lots of folks who could fill in for Weintraub. Why does he want you so bad?"

"I've beaten Devlin's son too many times at track meets."

"So what? His son has everything else going for him. Money, privilege, family name."

"Yeah, and that kind of person doesn't like to get beat by a person of questionable background." Ned's voice shook with emotion.

"Forget about him," Jinx said. "Let's go down to the fairgrounds later on. I hear there's a fella selling all kinds of fireworks."

"Selling," Ned said, opening his envelope, "as in money, of which you have none." He stared at the contents in disgust. "And, I guess, neither do I. They work us like pack mules for seventy-eight cents a ton of coal and then pay us in vouchers for the company store. It's no wonder we can't get out from under their thumb." He crumpled up the envelope. "So unless they're selling fireworks at the Devlin Mercantile, we're out of luck."

"I didn't say we were going to buy any. We're just going to look. Once we see what goes in one, we can make our own. We'll have fellas all over Crawford County buying our fireworks."

"Not in the mood."

"C'mon. Where's your spirit of adventure?"

Ned slowly buckled his belt and pick around his waist. "It's buried a hundred and fifty feet underground. Maybe I'll start working triple shifts. Then I can buy a piece of that coal vein and somebody might have a little leverage against Devlin."

"Suit yourself. But I did see Pearl Ann Larkin trying on a fetching hat at the millinery today. Big pink thing with feathers. She waved at me through the window."

Ned shrugged, opening the lower chamber of his miner's lamp and dropping in a small handful of little white cubes. He turned the k.n.o.b to the chamber above, allowing a few drops of water to hit the cubes, creating a gas that rose to the top. Ned flicked the flint, sparking a flame. Donning the hat, he said with a smirk, "Big pink thing with feathers, huh? If it doesn't come with a carbide gas light, I'm not interested."

"She said something about looking forward to sharing some popcorn with you tonight at the carnival and taking a ride on the carousel. But I guess that doesn't interest you either."

Ned adjusted the flame and shined it in Jinx's squinting eyes. "She said that?"

"Sure as I'm standing here. And I happen to know you've got forty cents at home."

Ned sighed. "This shift doesn't end until six o'clock."

Jinx smiled, knowing he had won. "I'll meet you at the fireworks booth at six-thirty."

Ned studied Jinx under the light of his helmet lamp. "What are you cooking up, Jinx? The last time you were this interested in my courting Pearl Ann, I ended up smelling like a glacial skunk."

Jinx straddled his bike. "By the time you're done working two shifts, you'll smell plenty without any help from me. So be sure to wash up," he called as he pedaled off.

The autumn night was cool. Hensen's field just outside of town was aglow with hanging lanterns strung from one booth to the next. The county fair was a welcome time for all. Farmers had finished harvesting their soybeans, milo, and alfalfa and had planted their winter wheat. The kids had a break from school. Folks from neighboring towns stopped in to sample the variety of foods.

The Italians baked everything from cannelloni to ziti. The Swedes served up braided bread and hard baked pretzels, while the Germans and Austrians touted their strudels and bierochs.

Jinx spotted Ned and handed him a calzone. "Compliments of Mama Santoni. She heard you had to work two shifts."

"Grazie," Ned called to the large woman, his mouth already full of bread and cheese.

"Eat, eat," she insisted, her arms deep in dough. "Come back, I have biscuits baking. I keep them warm for you, yes?"

"We'll be back," Jinx said, leading Ned away by the elbow.

A few booths over, a placard read JASPER HINKLEY, PYROTECTIC JASPER HINKLEY, PYROTECTIC. The exuberant Mr. Hinkley worked a crowd of young boys who apparently had plenty of money to spend. "There you go, lads. And remember, be careful with fire. Once you start it, fire works! fire works!"

The boys ran off, leaving Mr. Hinkley to laugh alone. He smoothed the handlebar mustache covering his upper lip. "Just a little pyrotectic humor, gentlemen. What can I do you for today? See here, you've got your Shanghai Sizzlers, Sparkling Marys, Chinese Color Changers."

Jinx picked up a red cylinder behind the rest. "What's this one?"

"Easy there, son!" Mr. Hinkley took it from Jinx and gently replaced it with several matching red cylinders. "That little fella's not for sale. He's a Manchurian Fire Thrower. They're ones that shoot upwards of three hundred feet in the air and explode in two different colors."

Jinx hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "What do you take us for, mister? A couple of them schoolboys? You expect us to believe these here cans shoot up in the air and explode in color?"

Mr. Hinkley looked bewildered. "That's exactly what I'm telling you. Haven't you ever seen fireworks, boy?"

Jinx stuck out his bottom lip and spoke with a feigned country-b.u.mpkin accent. "Well, mister, we may look stupid, but that's as far as it goes. I bet there's nothing more than beans in them cans."

Mr. Hinkley took a medium-sized canister and cranked off the lid. "You see that there powder? That's pure T-N-T. Mix that with a little pota.s.sium nitrate, sulfur, and charcoal and you got the beginnings of a first-cla.s.s sh.e.l.l."

Jinx looked sideways at Ned. "Sounds like quite a recipe. But even if you can get it off the ground, and I'm not saying I believe you can, how you going to get it to explode in the air?"

"Now, that's the trick." Mr. Hinkley gently reached into the canister and exposed a thin fuse. "This little fella, he starts to burning when the sh.e.l.l goes up. When he's all used up, kapow! You got yourself a mighty fine pyrotectic display. That's fireworks in layman's terms." He put the lid back on the canister. "Course, you got to be a bona fide pyrotectic to handle these little darlings. I apprenticed with a full-fledged Chinaman up in Omaha."

Jinx nodded and crossed his arms. "Well, you do seem to know your trade."

"Fine. Now, which one of these quality specimens would you be interested in? Keeping in mind, I don't sell the Manchurian Fire Throwers. Those are only for official pyrotectic displays."