Moon Over Manifest

That evening at the fairgrounds, Ned paid for a bag of popcorn. He walked past the army recruitment booth and the Liberty Bond table, over to the Daughters of the American Revolution. Pearl Ann stood with a bevy of women bragging about their sons and nephews in the army and all a-twitter over the coming New Year’s festivities.

Mrs. Larkin seemed to be holding court as she passed out flyers.

VICTORY QUILT AUCTION

Sponsored by

the Daughters of the American Revolution

Manifest Chapter

Mrs. Eugene Larkin, President

The ladies of each fraternal order are invited to submit squares for a special victory quilt to be signed by President Woodrow Wilson himself on his tour of the Midwest.

The Manifest Victory Quilt will be auctioned off to the highest bidder during the New Year’s festivities at the Manifest depot following the president’s quilt signing.

Quilt squares should be the standard six-inch block and must be submitted for approval by December 1 to Mrs. Eugene Larkin, president.

Proceeds will go toward the purchase of Liberty Bonds to support our young men in arms.

Mrs. Eugene Larkin, President

“Now, ladies, everyone take a quilt square and flyer.” Mrs. Larkin clucked. “My husband, the late Eugene Larkin, who, as you know, was the county appraiser for twenty-five years, was a strong supporter of President Wilson. I’m sure that is in large part why Manifest is one of the stops on the presidential tour of the Midwest. Of course, my nephew, my sister’s boy, works in the governor’s office. He’s an assistant to the assistant.…”

Ned sidled up to Pearl Ann. “So the president’s coming to town. He must have heard we have the prettiest girls in the state.” Pearl Ann smiled as Ned handed her the bag of popcorn. “You going to enter a quilt square?”

“Every girl’s got to do her part in supporting our boys in arms,” she said, waving a swatch of paisley fabric. “But with my quilting, I think I’d set the war effort back a few Liberty Bonds.” She tucked the fabric into Ned’s shirt pocket like a handkerchief.

“Care to take a ride on the carousel?” Ned asked.

Before she could answer, a high-pitched voice called from the bevy of quilter women: “Pearl Ann.” It was Pearl Ann’s mother, Mrs. Larkin. “Come along, dear.” Mrs. Larkin spoke with pursed lips and looked at Ned as if he was not fit to carry Pearl Ann’s luggage, let alone share popcorn with her.

“I don’t think your mother is too fond of me,” Ned said.

“She just doesn’t know you yet.”

“Yet? I’ve lived in Manifest most of my life.”

“To someone whose people have lived here for generations, that’s not that long.”

“Oh, so I have to have a pedigree going back to the time of George Washington.”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just that Mother doesn’t feel she knows a person until she knows their aunts, uncles, and second cousins twice removed. She just likes to have her ducks in a row.”

Ned’s shoulders stiffened. It was this whole notion of lineage and background that had sent him back into the mines for a second shift. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well, you’d have to row quite a ways to find my ducks somewhere in Italy, or France, or maybe Czechoslovakia, so that presents a problem, doesn’t it?”

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t care where you’re from,” she said softly.

“Pearl Ann!” Mrs. Larkin called again, this time with one eyebrow raised.

Just then, Arthur Devlin, wearing a dapper pin-striped suit and sporting a sleek black cane, approached Mrs. Larkin. He bowed and took her hand. “Good evening, Mrs. Larkin,” he said in a booming voice. “Or may I call you Eudora, as in our school days?” He winked as he kissed her hand. “Would you be so gracious as to accompany me on a stroll?”

“I’m afraid as president of the DAR, I really must distribute these quilt squares—”

“Come now, surely that can wait. My dear departed Esther always said, ‘Don’t do today what you can put off until tomorrow.’ ” He chuckled, turning Mrs. Larkin away from Pearl Ann and Ned, his large build cutting her off from view.

“It’s pretty clear that your mother cares about where a person is from,” Ned said.

Pearl Ann grimaced. “Who is it you want to take on the carousel? Me or my mother?”

Ned dug in his heels and didn’t answer.

“I see. Well, be careful going round and round on the carousel. Mother is prone to nausea.” Pearl Ann marched away from Ned and her mother.

“Hey, Benedetto.” A young man snatched the paisley fabric from Ned’s pocket. “You getting your quilt square ready for the victory quilt?” It was Lance Devlin, the mine owner’s son, with a couple of his buddies. “Well, it’s good to see you’re doing your part for the war effort.” The boys, who normally sported their high school letter sweaters, were dressed in smart brown military uniforms and jaunty hats. They formed a half circle around Ned.

“Going to a costume ball?” Ned said, still smoldering.

“You didn’t hear? We signed up to do our bit. After all, somebody’s got to go over and fix the mess your folks got themselves into over there.”