The Curse of the Buttons (4 page)

Ike fell out of bed with a thud. No brothers. The sun was already halfway across the floor. His stomach rumbled. It all came back to him: the crush of soldiers, the
Jeannie Deans
,
his brothers, the giant and the bear. Gone. The Iowa First would be in Hannibal by now.

He slouched into his clothes and stood at his shelf, taking stock. Lincoln, Palmer and the men, checkers, mat, marbles, arrowheads, slingshot, mussels, stones. A half-eaten beef stick. Why had he thrown his drumsticks in the river? He gnawed a bite off the beef stick and touched the place the bear should be. A crush of self-pity settled on his chest.

Downstairs, next door, and next door to that — all women and girls. Leon had pulled him into the ranks, then pushed him away. It was Leon’s fault that Palmer’s bear was gone. That Ike missed Albirdie and the compass. He would be in Hannibal, too, if it weren’t for Leon. This wouldn’t have happened to Palmer.

Downstairs, the shades were drawn against the light and Mother lay on the sofa with a damp washrag over her face. LouLou and Jane were nestled into Father’s chair, whispering and playing paper dolls.

“Shhh!” they hissed, pointing at Mother.

“But —” Ike started.

“Shhh!” they hissed again.

Next door, Aunt Sue was sorting strawberries.

“What am I going to do with all these berries piling up and no men to eat them?” she demanded. She shook her head at Ike and dropped a handful onto the table, motioning for him to sit in Uncle Oscar’s chair.

“Do your part,” she said.

Ike ate obediently, keeping his eyes on the table.

“My husband and sons — all gone. Least your mother still has you.”

Ike stuffed the last strawberry in his mouth and got up to leave.

“You’re not full yet.” She dumped another heap of berries in front of him.

She nodded at the
Gate City
spread open on the table.

“A shooting at
Day Bros. Grocery
in broad daylight. More soldiers coming to town, bringing us to ruin. I say keep them out at camp and away from decent folk. Why build a brand-new soldiering camp one mile north of town if you can’t keep all the soldiers in it?”

Their men were soldiers; weren’t the Button men decent folk? Ike pulled the paper toward him and read the story for himself. Mr. Grainger, excited by liquor, a pepperbox pistol, a reeling blow.

“Don’t worry your mother today, or you’ll be in the soup, understand? And keep the newspaper away from her. The news of late’s been enough to curdle a soul even as stout as my own, and now, with the men soldiering? Fold it up, why don’t you, and toss it in with Barfoot’s messes.”

“Where’s Susannah?” Ike ventured, grasping for an excuse to escape.

“Next door,” she said. “Helping with the babies. Keeps her mind off that boy she’s pining over. Quit moping after those brothers, Ike. It’s not as though they paid you any mind when they were here. Time you find something useful to do, like my Susannah.”

Ike folded the newspaper and edged toward the door as Aunt Sue kept on.

“I says to her, I says,
Last thing we need is for you to be taking up with Thomas Britton. He’s a regular Palmer, that one. Just you look out.
”

Ike stopped. “How is he a regular Palmer?”

“And do you know what she says to me?” Aunt Sue continued, ignoring him. “She says,
Leastways Palmer
—”

“How is Thomas like Palmer?” Ike interrupted.

“Palmer!” she said sharply. “Pshaw. Going adventuring, leaving responsibility and heartbreak in his wake.”

“But the gold,” Ike said.

“Gold?” she scoffed. “The little pittance he sent back ain’t a mite of what drowned with him, leaving us in debt to the Captain. Bold? I’ll give the man that. Handsome? Oh,
my,
yes. But Palmer Button hain’t the sense of a horsefly.

“Now, go over to Aunt Betsy’s. Why, if I don’t —”

Ike ducked out and went next door.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Aunt Betsy gathered him in a pillowy embrace, squashing one of the babies between them. “We’ve et, but bless your tired little heart, you slept right on through. We saved you plenty. Plenty! I know how to feed a growing boy, though the Lord saw fit to give me none of my own. No. Not a one. Just this whole passel of lassies.”

Ike pulled away and the little girls giggled uncontrollably at the sight of a boy in their kitchen at this hour.

“They’re a nuisance,” Susannah said, handing Ike the other baby. He bounced her on his hip while Susannah peeled an egg for him and uncovered a plate of biscuits.

He handed the baby back, took two biscuits with a mumbled thank-you, and went out to the lean-to, where Barfoot waited patiently.

Ike fed Barfoot one of the biscuits, then sat on a straw bale.

They chewed in silence, listening to Goldenrod and Marigold barking over at the Hinmans’, and old man Hinman yelling at them to stop. They heard Mrs. Hinman scold her father for taking a tone with the dogs. Goldenrod and Marigold stopped barking just long enough to eat whatever treats Mrs. Hinman must have given them, then they started in again.

Ike unfolded the newspaper and read the shooting story to Barfoot and one about a colt born without forelegs.

“Look at this flag.” Ike flashed the paper at Barfoot.
“Our flag is there! And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave . . .”
he read. “Leon and Jim are there with the flag while we’re here with these thrilling announcements:
Of river news there is scarcely anything to report. The Hawkeye State will pass up this morning. The river is falling fast.
A confidence man’s been caught in Davenport. Lewis Sister shot a secessionist in Stewartville. Ohmer’s Saloon has ice cream every day and evening. Tewksbury’s celebrated strawberries are for sale at Louis Eck’s saloon. I couldn’t celebrate another strawberry if it were wearing a feathered cap.”

Ike grabbed a brush from the tackle bucket and pulled it down Barfoot’s coat, starting at his neck.

“You’ll be in the soup,” he said, mimicking Aunt Sue’s shrill voice.

He worked his way down Barfoot’s right side. “Think Palmer stayed out of the soup?” he said. “No.”

He moved to Barfoot’s left side and started brushing at his neck, working his way back again. “
Sense of a horsefly.
What does she know?”

Ike exchanged the brush for a wide-toothed currycomb and started working the snarls out of Barfoot’s tail. “I am left behind.”

Ike shook his head and kept working the coarse hairs. “You’ve got pie in here!”

He smoothed Barfoot’s tail with his hands. “Think Palmer would have sat around eating strawberries with the women?”

He patted his horse’s flank. “There. That’s better. You look smart enough for a parade.”

Barfoot whinnied.

“Calm down, pal. It’s just an expression.”

Barfoot whinnied again and stamped his hooves.

“Barfoot!” Ike scolded.

“Hi, Barfoot.” It was Albirdie, wearing her infernal compass. She fed the horse a carrot. Ike ignored her and nudged Barfoot’s head toward him. He reached for a handful of oats and held it out to Barfoot.

“I kept my word, if that’s what you’re mad about,” Albirdie said. She held out another carrot. Barfoot nuzzled her hand, then her pocket, looking for more.

“It’s not my fault you aren’t in Hannibal with your brothers.” She held up the compass, turning until she was facing south, and pointed.

Ike pulled Barfoot’s head back again and brushed his snout.

“Go ahead and blame me if you want,” she continued. “I’m going to the levee. All those people yesterday, the soldiers leaving? A person gets there early, they could find lots of things dropped and left behind.” She kissed Barfoot’s cheek and walked out to the alley. “Want to come?”

“Nope,” said Ike.

“Fine. You’ll have to win any treasures I scavenge, then. And that’s not likely.”

Ike continued brushing Barfoot until Albirdie was gone. Treasures. There
had
been a lot of people. He went to the alley and watched Albirdie break into a run.

“Shoot. There could be something useful at the levee.” He hesitated, then climbed on Barfoot’s back.

“Come on, Barfoot. We may as well give her a ride.”

Main Street was as familiar to Ike as the terrain of his own room. He knew where the hooligans congregated after dark, which shopkeepers were feuding, and where he’d be most likely to get an apple or a lump of sugar for Barfoot. He kept Barfoot close to the sidewalk, letting faster horses and carriages pass in the middle.

These last months had transformed the usually placid city center into a hub of military preparation. Out-of-town carts and carriages bustled by, always in a hurry. Men shouted. Shop help kept broomsticks busy. Newcomers crossed the street in the middle of the block, gaping at the tall buildings. Ike and Albirdie let Barfoot edge over to Day Bros. Grocery, where he stopped in the shade of their awning.

A tall brown horse galloped past, pulling a boxy cart. Two faces peered out from under a pile of straw. Milton and Morris Hinman, hitching a ride.

“It’ll be dark before you get anywhere, rate that old nag is going!” one of the boys hollered.

“He’s a he!” Ike called after them, but the boys were already far ahead.

“Don’t let Milton and Morris outrun us, Barfoot!” Albirdie shouted. She encouraged Barfoot with her heels, but he wouldn’t budge.

“He’s spooked,” said Ike.

Mr. Day limped out with an apple for Barfoot. “Leave the poor boy here,” he said. “The activity’s too much for him.”

“Thanks, Mr. Day,” Ike said.

They walked the last blocks to the levee and surveyed the ground. It was still damp, and anything left was muddy. Junior was there, too, with a sack hanging empty at his side.

“Look what I found,” he said, holding up a torn bill. “Wisconsin money.”

“Milton and Morris are over there. Look,” said Albirdie.

“Hide your valuables,” said Junior, tucking the bill in his pocket.

“Don’t let on that I’ve got my compass,” said Albirdie. She took it from around her neck and put it in her pinafore pocket.

“Hinmans,” Ike scoffed. “Never mind the Hinmans. We’ll just stay over on this section.”

They walked slowly, side by side, scanning the ground.

“A spoon,” said Ike. He held it up triumphantly, then put it in his shirt pocket.

“I’m hoping for some bullets,” said Junior.

“Or Iowa money,” said Albirdie. She picked up a blue knitted sock. “Perfect.” She slipped her compass inside and stuck it back in her pocket.

“Ike! Junior! Albirdie!” Milton saw them and ran over. “Look here. A drumstick. Could have been Leon’s or Jim’s, Ike. What did you find? I’ll trade you this genuine drumstick for it.”

Ike reached for the drumstick. Milton pulled it back.

“Paws off, Button. Now, who wants it?”

Ike looked out at the river. Leon and Jim were out there somewhere. And his whittled drumsticks.

“You don’t know what we have to trade yet,” Junior pointed out.

Milton held the drumstick for Junior to inspect. Genuine.

Ike grabbed for it. “Give it to me. If it’s Leon’s or Jim’s it belongs to me.” Milton snatched it back, ignoring Ike.

“OK, then, Junior, I’ll play you for it,” said Milton. “Marbles. Double or nothing. I bet you found something good, didn’t you?” He reached for Junior’s sack, but Junior held it close.

“Forget it,” said Junior.

But Ike considered. His spoon was a good find, but an actual drumstick. If he got another one . . . Maybe he could still find a way south.

“All right,” said Ike. He pulled out the spoon.

“Ike!” said Junior. “He’s sly.”

“Nice,” said Milton, ignoring Junior and examining the spoon. “Silver. Bet I can get some money for that. He flashed a deck of worn cards. “Pick a card. Any card.”

“I thought we were going to play marbles,” said Ike.

“We would, but I don’t have any on me. Do you?” said Milton.

“Nope. Junior? Albirdie?” They shook their heads.

“Come on. You’ve got a good chance of winning.” Milton fanned out the deck. “Pick a card, any card.”

“Don’t do it, Ike,” said Albirdie. “You’re just going to lose that spoon.”

“Are you going to listen to her or to your own good sense?” said Milton. Ike reached out his hand, then hesitated. Albirdie could be right. But then, he’d only had the spoon a few minutes, anyhow.

“It’s an army drumstick,” he said to Albirdie as he plucked a card from the middle of the deck. Jack of clubs. He showed it to Junior and Albirdie.

“Remember your card,” said Milton. “Now. Put it here.” He tapped the top of the deck. Then he cut the deck and restacked the cards. He cut it again. “I’m going to find your card. And if I can’t, you get the drumstick. Fifty-one chances for you; one chance for me.”

Milton knelt and started flipping cards over, one by one. They huddled around him. He paused a couple of times, feeling the top card and looking into the distance, then continuing to turn over card after card, studying each one. Finally, he stopped, his hand hovering over the next unrevealed card. “Mmmm . . . mmhmmm. Can you feel that?” He held the deck out to them. Ike and Junior held their hand over it and shook their heads. Albirdie reached out, then pulled her hand back.