The Curse of the Buttons (10 page)

“If Milton and Morris come over, tell them I’ll be right back.”

Ike found Albirdie lying on her stomach on the back pew with a long sheet of paper flattened in front of her, pencil poised above it.

“Albirdie,” he said. She held up one finger. He stood and waited, peering over her shoulder. She made a mark on the page, then used a straightedge to make another.

“Albirdie,” he said again. Lines and angles and squares and a tiny person. The compass anchored one corner of the page.

She shook her head and held up her finger again. Then slapped her pencil down and sat up.

“There,” she said proudly. “I’m so good at this.”

Ike slid into the pew, picked up the compass, and turned the page to face him. He felt the weight of the compass in his hand. It was still on the string Albirdie used to hang it around her neck.

“It’s a map,” she said.

“I know. But of what?”

She made a small umbrella along one line, and some small circles across from it.

“Keokuk,” she said, reaching for the compass. Ike pulled it back.

“I’m just looking at it.” He set 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 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 chided.

“These stars and stripes celebrate our freedom,” said Mrs. Hinman. “Our freedom to do as we please.
That’s
what our boys are out there fighting for.”

Ike’s mother stabbed her needle into the flag and stood up.

“I agree, Mrs. Hinman. This flag does stand for freedom. Freedom for
every
person.”

“Freedom for our Iowa men to have Iowa jobs,” said Mrs. Hinman. “Your freedom for
every
person,
Olive,
means jobs taken up by
other people.
Does that sound like freedom to you, ladies?”

“Now, now,” said Mrs. Gorman. “We are here for our soldiers.”

“That’s
right,
” said Mrs. Hinman. “This is a Soldiers’ Aid Society, Olive, not a Coloreds’ Aid Society. I would appreciate it if you would leave all further politicizing out of our meetings.”

Ike slipped up to his old bedroom and grabbed the map, then ran down the stairs and over to his pantry room before the women could stop him.

He spread out a kerchief on his cot and put the compass on it. Then he hung it around his neck, tucking it into his shirt. He laid his leaving collection on the kerchief. Slingshot, arrowhead, Lincoln, marbles. It didn’t look like enough. What about food?

But before he could put anything away, there were footsteps on the porch, and Albirdie was stepping into the kitchen, then into his room uninvited, closing the door behind her. He put his hand on the lump the compass made under his shirt. For the first time, he felt awkward with Albirdie. He saw her as Milton and Morris saw her. Why didn’t she have girl friends? Study to be a nurse like Susannah, or play paper dolls like Jane and LouLou?

“Milton and Morris have you talked into one of their schemes, haven’t they?” said Albirdie. “My compass is missing.”

“No, they haven’t,” he said. And it was true. It wasn’t their scheme. It was his.

“So this is your map.”

She picked up the map and Ike snatched it back from her, tearing a corner.

“Albirdie! See what you did?”