The Curse of the Buttons by Ylvisaker Anne

Author:Ylvisaker, Anne [Ylvisaker, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Family, Juvenile Fiction, Multigenerational, United States, Historical, 19th Century
ISBN: 9780763666934
Publisher: Candlewick
Published: 2014-11-11T08:00:00+00:00

“Barfoot!” Ike pulled Barfoot’s snout out of the daisy patch at the boardinghouse on Water Street. He leaned his forehead into his horse’s neck and took a deep breath, then another. He wished he could unsee what he’d seen. A carriage clattered by and Ike ducked under Barfoot’s belly and stood out of sight of the street.

“You there!”

Ike jumped. Mrs. Kraft burst out of the boardinghouse door and waved a rolling pin at him. Did she know? Was she going to turn him in?

“Your nag is blocking my view of the street, young man. Skedaddle!”

A bee buzzed up out of the flowers just then and landed on Barfoot’s nose. Barfoot snorted in alarm, shook his head back and forth, then took off at a near trot. Ike ran after him, shouting over his shoulder, “He’s a he!”

Barfoot slowed back to his usual walk after a block and a half and stopped to drink out of the birdbath at the McGoverns’.

“We need to find Milton and Morris, Barfoot. Come on, boy, come on.”

They trudged up Morgan and into the alley, then circled the Hinman house. “Milton! Morris!” Ike hollered up at their window, but there was no response. Goldenrod and Marigold were inside barking, and the yard was empty.

The windows at Ike’s own house were open and there was a jumble of women’s voices, and Albirdie was walking briskly down the alley and into his yard.

She didn’t look like herself. She had on a clean calico dress and her hair was neatly pulled back. The story of Mary nearly fell right out of his mouth, but she jumped in first.

“Aren’t you coming?” She turned and marched toward the porch, and despite his resolve to maintain his distance from Albirdie, Ike found himself following her.

“Where? Why are you dressed up? Did something happen to the men?”

But before she could answer, they’d reached his house, the house he’d been consolidated out of, from which came a great racket of voices, and Albirdie Woolley walked right in as if she’d been invited.

The front room was full of women. Dining chairs were interspersed with parlor chairs, and Mrs. Hinman stood in the center of it all, Ike’s mother at her side, her eyes weary, but wearing her company smile. Mary.

Milton and Morris were in the dining room, serving themselves wide wedges of pie. Ike backed toward the door.

“. . . each responsible for . . .” Mrs. Hinman was saying, but Ike interrupted.

“Is there news?”

“No, young man, there is no news, and you”— she pointed her finger at Albirdie —“Albirdie Woolley. Why, I never.”

“You called for the women of the neighborhood, so my father sent me, since we have no other woman in our household.” She stepped over the little girls and wedged herself a spot on the sofa between Susannah and Mrs. Gorman. “Come on, Ike.” She pointed to the footstool in front of Mrs. Gorman, who moved her feet obligingly.

“Well. I . . . All right,” said Mrs. Hinman with an air of resignation.

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