Moon Over Manifest

In my free time from Miss Sadie’s, I’d helped Hattie Mae at the newspaper office some, and helped myself to a few more old editions. But mostly, Lettie, Ruthanne, and I had been spying on people all over town, peeking in windows and eavesdropping on conversations, figuring we’d come upon the Rattler sooner or later. But so far, nobody had given himself up. And we were all ready for a break from spy hunting.

“Come on, lazybones,” called Ruthanne. “The frogs are waiting.”

I lumbered my way down the stairs and outside. “Lazybones,” I moaned. “My back’s so sore from digging in Miss Sadie’s dry dirt I could spit. Except my mouth’s too parched.”

“Well, we can remedy that.” Lettie produced a jar of cold water. “Mrs. Dawkins gave me some ice from her cellar. She’s got enough down there to last all summer.”

“You got a frog sack?” Ruthanne asked, swinging her own burlap sack.

Truth was I’d never been frog hunting. But as I didn’t want to seem inexperienced, I said, “I just use my pockets.”

“How do you get ’em to stay put?” Lettie asked.

“I tie their legs in a knot, how else?” I tried to keep a straight face, but Lettie was looking at me so serious I couldn’t help grinning.

She wagged a finger at me. “You are a hoot, Abilene Tucker. Let’s get going. Mama’s going to have the frying pan ready to fry up some frog legs for supper.”

Frog legs, huh? When you were hungry most of the time, you learned to eat what you could get. Still, frog legs sounded a bit exotic even to me. But the three of us set off into the woods on my first frog-hunting expedition.

We could hear them croaking all around. But finding them seemed to be a different story.

“Once you spot one, work him into a corner somewhere,” Ruthanne instructed.

“A corner? In the woods.”

“Yeah, there’s rocks and trees, and logs all over.”

I crouched low to the ground, listening and watching, when suddenly a fat green frog hopped in front of me. “There’s one!”

“I got one too,” Lettie yelled.

Before I knew it, the three of us had taken off in three different directions. My frog hopped this way and that, always staying just out of reach. I chased him into a clearing, where he hopped into a prickly bush. He sat there, calm as could be, knowing I couldn’t reach in and get him.

I thought about waiting him out, but then something caught my eye. It was a gravestone beside an old craggy sycamore tree. Just a simple arched marker, nothing special about it, except it was the only one. Whose could it be out here in the middle of nowhere? I wondered. My curiosity got the best of me and I moved closer to read the name.

But just as I reached to brush the years of dirt from the marker, I heard a scream. It came from just up the way, through the trees. I ran through the bushes toward the sound, my face and arms getting scratched as I went. Then I stopped short. The scream had come from a little house tucked back in the woods.

It was a tidy house with a neat stack of firewood piled up against the side. Straight and sturdy stairs led up to a little porch and I could see red and white gingham curtains in the windows. This was a nice house that probably housed nice people. But right now, there was an air of distress all around.

Lettie and Ruthanne tumbled into me, out of breath and similarly scratched.

“What’s happened? We heard a scream.”

“Shhh.”

Billy Clayton came around the corner of the house, his face drawn with worry and fear. He steadied a log upright on a tree stump, and with an ax that looked bigger than he was, he gave it a whack and chopped it in half. He tossed the two pieces into a pile and reached for another log. Lettie, Ruthanne, and I kept hidden among the trees when the door to the house opened.

“Holy Moses,” Ruthanne whispered in disbelief.

Sister Redempta came out of the house and walked over to the well. She still wore her long black dress and rosary beads, but had no veil on her head. Her hair was cropped short, her face red with exertion. She hoisted a bucket from the well, rolled up her sleeves, and splashed water on her face and neck. Then, with her hands in the small of her back, she stretched and let out a deep breath, probably as deep as that well.

She closed her eyes.

“What’s she doing?” Lettie asked.

“You think she’s praying?” I asked.

Billy stopped chopping and waited for Sister Redempta to open her eyes.

When she did, she seemed surprised to see him standing there, as if she’d been away for a spell. “Billy Clayton, we’re going to need some of that wood now. Your mother is resting and your new baby brother is in need of a warm bath.”

“So everything’s all right? I mean, Mama? She’s gonna be all right?”

“Yes, Billy. She had a tough go of it, but she’s a strong woman. She must be to keep an ornery boy like you in line.”

Billy smiled. “Yes, Sister. Thank you, Sister,” he said, his voice shaky with relief.

Sister Redempta went back inside and Billy gathered up a few wood splits and followed her.