Free Hidden Places by Lynn Austin

many years, but now I had books piled everywhere, too. When we ran out of space in the other rooms, I stacked a load of books in the spare room with Mr. Harper. The commotion woke him up. He stared at the boxes in amazement.
    ‘‘Where does Aunt Batty live? In the public library?’’
    ‘‘Oh, you don’t know the half of it!’’ I said, leaning against the doorframe to rest. ‘‘These are just her special books. There are twice as many still down there that she didn’t make us bring.’’
    ‘‘I guess we won’t run out of reading material any time soon.’’ He smiled and acted all polite and friendly, but for some reason I was afraid to be friendly in return. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him—my instincts told me that he was perfectly trustworthy. But I found myself getting snappish with him for the same unknown reason that I always barked at my kids when I didn’t really mean to.
    ‘‘Help yourself,’’ I said, turning away. ‘‘I certainly don’t have time to read.’’
    Toward evening Mr. Harper’s fever went back up a little bit, but it wasn’t nearly as high as it had been the past few days. ‘‘I know just the thing to cool him off,’’ Aunt Batty said after we finished washing the supper dishes. She should have been tuckered out from all the work we’d done that day, but she put on her coat and a pair of boots and disappeared out the back door with a kerosene lantern. She was gone for such a long time that I just about gave her up for lost. But she finally reappeared, all out of breath, lugging a crazy-looking bucket with a crank on top. The kids crowded around to see the mysterious contraption.
    ‘‘It’s an ice-cream churn,’’ she announced. ‘‘You kids like ice cream?’’ They stared at her, all wide-eyed and slack-mouthed as if she’d just offered them a trip to the moon for a slice of green cheese. I don’t think they’d eaten ice cream but once or twice in their whole lives, what with Grandpa Wyatt running things the way he did.
    Aunt Batty soon had everyone buzzing around like a hive of worker bees with herself as the queen. ‘‘You run down to the cellar and fetch me a jar of your mama’s canned peaches,’’ she told Luke. ‘‘You grab your mittens, boy, and fill this full of snow,’’ she said, handing Jimmy a pail. She turned to Becky and me. ‘‘We’re going to need some fresh cream, some sugar, and some pickling salt. You have any pickling salt, Toots?’’
    When she had everything ready, Aunt Batty set the churn right outside Gabe’s bedroom, opening the door wide and propping him up in bed so he could watch. The kids squabbled over who was going to crank the handle, so Aunt Batty got the egg timer and made them all take turns. Not one to waste time, she took out her knitting needles and a ball of yarn and began casting-on stitches while they churned.
    ‘‘Whatcha making?’’ Becky asked her.
    ‘‘Well, I thought maybe Gabe could use a new pair of socks, seeing as how his have so many holes in the toes.’’
    ‘‘When you finish the socks,’’ Becky asked, ‘‘could you knit Arabella some new kittens? Mama took my mittens away from her again, and Arabella wants babies so bad.’’
    ‘‘What a wonderful idea!’’ Aunt Batty said. ‘‘Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll start the first kitten right now. What color shall we make him?’’
    I shook my head as Becky sorted through balls of yarn in Aunt Batty’s knitting basket, picking out two brown kittens and a white one. Now my children were losing their minds, too.
    When the ice cream was finally ready, the kids started all hollering at once. ‘‘Let me taste! No, me first! Let me try it!’’
    ‘‘I think we should let Mr. Harper have the first taste,’’ Aunt Batty decided. ‘‘He’s our guest, after all, and we’re making it to cool his fever, remember?’’ She scooped some into a bowl and brought it to Gabe. The kids’ tongues hung nearly down to the