Free The Curse of the Buttons by Anne Ylvisaker Page A

the compass on the edge of the map. “Why Keokuk?”
    “It’s where we live. Here’s Cutts & Simms Umbrella, ice cream at Ohmer’s Saloon. Here’s your house.”
    “That doesn’t look like me.”
    “Of course not,” she said, pointing to the key. “This means
boy
.”
    Ike studied the map. Maybe he needed a key on his map. “Is this the levee?” he asked, tracing his finger along the river’s edge until he found the spot where he’d seen the men on horses. And Mary. “There are trees here,” he said, “and lots of brush.”
    “I’ll add that next time. Rematch?” She rolled up the map and laid out her checkers mat.
    “I don’t have time,” said Ike. He turned the compass, watching
north
stay in one place.
    “Just one game,” said Albirdie.
    “For the compass?”
    “For the general’s button. What do you have?”
    Ike checked his pockets and took out a swirly red marble. “Aggie?”
    Albirdie put the general’s button back and pulled out another, less ornate button. She unrolled the mat and set up her pieces. When Ike hesitated, she did his side, too. Ike absently slid a man forward.
    Albirdie made a quick move. Ike moved another piece and right away she jumped two of his men.
    “Concentrate,” she said.
    Ike thought about Mary in the woods and her boys, David and John.
Quick. Bad aim. Can’t keep a secret . . .
Ike moved another man and Albirdie started to jump it, then put her piece back.
    “No.” Albirdie put his player in another spot. “Come on, Ike. Don’t throw them away. Strategy. Never leave an open space behind your man.”
    “I know that. I just forgot.”
    She stopped and looked at him hard. “Are you just letting me win? Because that’s not fair.”
    “No! It’s not that. I just, I . . .”
    “What?”
    Ike leaned close to Albirdie. “I saw a woman in the trees by the river,” he whispered. Even though there wasn’t anyone else in the church, he felt as if God or one of the angels could hear him and might break into song about it any moment, beckoning Cutts and Simms and the sheriff.
    “What woman?” she whispered back. “What trees?”
    “A colored woman,” he said. He glanced around again.
“Mary,”
he said, looking at Albirdie to see if she understood.
    “Mary who?”
    “From the poster,” he said.
“Runaway from the subscriber, Clark County, Mo.”
There. He felt like he’d taken off a stone jacket.
    Albirdie rolled the checkers mat up with the pieces inside and spread out her map. “Where?” she asked.
    Ike put his finger on the place where the trees and brush should be.
    “What did you do?” she asked.
    “I —” And suddenly he felt ashamed.
Should
he have done something? What could he have done?
    “I didn’t do anything.”
    “Did you tell anyone? Besides me?”
    “No.”
    “Well, then you did something. That’s good,” she said. She rolled up her map and stood.
    Ike let out a long breath. He did feel better. He lay back on the pew. Albirdie wasn’t a priss, and he regretted saying so to Milton and Morris. He would miss Albirdie.
    “Aren’t you coming?” said Albirdie. Ike sat up. She was at the door, waiting.
    Ike clutched the compass in his hand and followed.

Downtown, Mr. Douglas from Public Works was trying out his new road scraper, and clumps of people were following its progress, watching the rough dirt street smooth out as he passed.
    “Never mind that, Ike. Come on!”
    “Where are we going?”
    “There’s one — stop!” It was a poster of Mary. Albirdie grabbed the lower edge and yanked it off the nail.
    “Here,” she said, handing it to Ike. “There’s another.” She crossed the street. Ike slipped the compass in his pocket, folded the paper quickly, and stuffed it inside his shirt, looking around for Mr. Cutts and Mr. Simms.
    She was back and handed him a second sheet.
    “Someone might see!” said Ike.
    “So?”
    “Isn’t it stealing?”
    “No. It’s a free country. For some of us.”
    Albirdie strode