Free The Curse of the Buttons by Anne Ylvisaker Page B

down the street toward the post office, and Ike lagged behind.
    “Why can’t we just leave them?” Ike asked. “This one isn’t even about Mary and her boys.”
    “It’s for the war,” she said.
    “The war is in the South, and I’m going to —” Ike caught himself.
    Albirdie stopped and looked at him. “You’re going to what?”
    “Nothing.”
    Albirdie studied his face a moment, then continued. “What about Mary and her boys? We can’t stay a union while the South still has slaves.”
    “But we don’t have slaves. Negro people are free here. Mr. Jenkins, for instance.”
    “Not if they are still legally someone’s slaves,” said Albirdie. She waved the poster. “Mary’s not free. Her boys are not free. If Mary or her boys get caught, they are sent back. They have to travel all the way to Canada to be sure they won’t be taken back.”
    “Canada.”
    Ike took the poster from her. He read the description again, felt Mary’s hand on his arm. He folded the paper and tucked it in his shirt with the other one.
    They went into the post office. There were notices there as well. One was seeking the infamous Sisters Brothers. They looked dangerous. Mary was not dangerous. Her boys were eleven and seven. How dangerous could they be? He looked at Albirdie. Could they take this poster down with the clerk staring at them from behind the desk?
    “Go on and mail your letter, Ike. I’ll wait,” Albirdie said loudly in an unusually sweet voice. She smiled at the clerk.
    “But I don’t . . . Oh, I mean, yes. I’m going to mail a letter.”
    Ike stepped up to the counter.
    “Um, how long will it take to get to, um, Hannibal?”
    “Can’t say. This is wartime, son. Now, do you want to mail something or not?”
    Ike dug in his pocket, reached under the compass, and pulled out a marble.
    “Shoot,” he said. “Forgot my money. All I got’s this aggie.”
    “We only take Iowa money,” said the clerk. “Also Minnesota and Wisconsin.”
    “I guess I’ll come back,” Ike said, turning and walking out the door as slowly as he could manage. Then he ran to Albirdie, who held up the poster triumphantly.
    “We did it!” Ike said.
    “Did what?”
    Milton and Morris. Morris grabbed the poster and handed it to Milton. “What are you doing here, Ike? Did you get the you-know-what? Is the map done?”
    “Map?” said Albirdie. “What map, Ike? Give me that poster, Milton.”
    “We have business with Ike, Albirdie.” Milton handed the poster to Albirdie indifferently, and he started to walk away with Morris close behind. “Aren’t you coming, Ike?”
    Ike stood between Albirdie and Milton and Morris. Mr. Day was sweeping the boards of the sidewalk. He leaned on the broomstick and watched them.
    “They’re rats, Ike,” Albirdie said. “Ignore them.”
    “They’re rats, Ike,” Morris mimicked.
    Albirdie stalked off, and though Ike called out, “Wait, Albirdie!” he didn’t make a move to follow.
    “Wait, Albirdie!” Milton mimicked.
    “We’re ready, Ike,” said Morris. They walked away, but Ike didn’t follow them, either.
    “Hinmans,” scoffed Mr. Day. He returned to his sweeping. Ike took out the compass and turned until it pointed
south,
then he started after Milton and Morris.

Ike ducked into his house and found himself smack in the middle of a room full of women, locked in stony silence. The only sound was the small
pop
as needles poked through red, white, and blue fabric, followed by the small
hiss
as the thread pulled through. Then
pop hiss, pop hiss
as many hands worked on one large flag. He backed away but his mother stopped him.
    “Ike, please bring Mrs. Hinman a glass of water. She needs to cool down.”
    Ike started for the door.
    “No, Ike,” commanded Mrs. Hinman. “I am perfectly cool, but your mother is too kind.
Too
kind. She’d like to see everyone live in pleasant harmony.
Every
one.” She looked around the room significantly.
    “Now, Myrtle,” Mrs. Gorman