Free Moon Over Manifest by Clare Vanderpool Page A

He’d held his church service the night before, followed by a potluck, but it turned out to be more of a “down on your luck,” as only one person showed up. A fellow with a week-old beard and a hole in his hat brought a can of beans.
    I hopped out of bed, put on my overalls, and headed down the narrow wooden stairs.
    “Good morning, Shady,” I said, ready to sit down to a plate of his usual warm, slightly burnt biscuits and molasses. Shady stashed something under the bar and mumbled words I didn’t catch. When he looked up, I could see that his eyes were kind of bloodshot and his whiskers hadn’t been shaved since the day before. The bottle on the shelf behind the bar was still full, but I supposed it was like any craving. If a person liked cookies, he was going to keep more than one at hand. When Shady went back to the stove for my breakfast, I leaned across the counter and peered behind it, but there was only a chipped coffee cup holding a couple of nickels and a button. Was it Shady’s drink money? Alcohol was against the law then as much as it was in 1917, but folks could usually get a bottle of the stuff here or there. I didn’t know if bootleggers would take buttons for payment along with nickels.
    I scooted back to my barstool as Shady came in, presenting me with a plate of cold, more than slightly burnt biscuits and half a leathery pork chop. I knew that times were hard, so I didn’t complain, but my stomach couldn’t help its moaning and groaning. Hattie Mae had brought by some delicious fried chicken the day before, but that was a distant memory. I bit into a hard biscuit, hoping I had enough spit to softenit up. But just then, Shady brought me a cold glass of milk. I nearly drank it down in one gulp and he poured me another glass. It filled my stomach nicely, but in my head I made plans to go by the newspaper office later to see if Hattie Mae had any leftovers.
    “I thought maybe you could use some help around here,” I said to Shady, wiping off my milk mustache. “I do laundering and mending. I’m even good with a hammer and nail.”
    He scratched his whiskery face, making a sound like sandpaper on rough wood. “Well, that’s awful nice of you to offer. But I’m feeling a little spent this morning and need a bit of a lie down. Besides, Miss Sadie’ll be expecting you,” he said.
    I choked a little on the biscuit brick, wondering how Shady knew of my ill-conceived agreement with the diviner, when he went over to a box in the corner of the room and pulled out a wire-bristle brush, one glove, a half-full bag of chewing tobacco, and a cracked mirror.
    Then his eyes lit up and he said, “There you are.” He pulled out a long coil of rope and proceeded to tie a large knot at each end. He gave the rope a good tug, testing its worth, and presented it to me. “Every little girl needs a skipping rope,” he said with a smile as he replaced the odds and ends and hauled the junk box out back.
    I held the rope in my hands and felt a stinging in my eyes. I didn’t really think of myself as a little girl anymore, but I smiled. “I had a skipping rope once,” I said when he returned. “It was in Tennessee, and I was using it to pull a wagon full of firewood. I guess I loaded too much wood in it, because the rope broke in two. I’ve always wished I could do that over. I wouldn’t have carried such a heavy load.”
    “Seems to me you’ve been carrying a heavy load for some time.” Shady’s eyes looked like deep watery pools. “Besides, everyone deserves a do-over. Now you’ve got yours.” He smiled.
    I smiled back, feeling the rough and bristly rope. It was like Shady. He had his rough edges but he was strong and steady. I guessed I’d better fess up about the diviner, since that cat was out of the bag anyway.
    “About last night … I lost my compass again the other day, and had to go see about getting it back.”
    “Mm-hmm. Miss Sadie told me. I take a little milk over to her on my way