{"product_id":"the-book-of-bright-ideas-isbn-9780385338141","title":"The Book of Bright Ideas","description":"Wisconsin, 1961. Evelyn “Button” Peters is nine the summer Winnalee and her fiery-spirited older sister, Freeda, blow into her small town–and from the moment she sees them, Button knows this will be a summer unlike any other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMuch to her mother’s dismay, Button is fascinated by the Malone sisters, especially Winnalee, a feisty scrap of a thing who carries around a shiny silver urn containing her mother’s ashes and a tome she calls “The Book of Bright Ideas.” It is here, Winnalee tells Button, that she records everything she learns: her answers to the  mysteries of life. But sometimes those mysteries conceal a truth better left buried. And when a devastating secret is suddenly revealed, dividing loyalties and uprooting lives, no one–from Winnalee and her sister to Button and her family–will ever be the same.SANDRA KRING lives in the north woods of Wisconsin. She runs support groups and workshops for adult survivors of trauma. Her debut novel, Carry Me Home, was a Book Sense Notable pick and a 2005 Midwest Booksellers' Choice Award nominee.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e      I should have known that summer of 1961 was gonna be the biggest summer of  our lives. I should have known it the minute I saw Freeda Malone step out  of that pickup, her hair lit up in the sun like hot flames. I should have  known it, because Uncle Rudy told me what happens when a wildfire comes  along.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    We were standing in his yard, Uncle Rudy and I, at the foot of a red pine  that seemed to stretch to heaven, when a squirrel began knocking pinecones  to the ground with soft thuds. Uncle Rudy bent over with a grunt and  picked one of the green cones up, rolling it a bit in his callused palm  before handing it to me. It was cool in my hands. Sap dripped down the  side like tears.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Here’s somethin’ I bet you don’t know, Button,” he said, using the  nickname he himself gave me. “That cone there, it ain’t like the cones of  most other trees. Most cones, all they need is time, or a squirrel to  crack ’em open so they can drop their seeds and start a new tree. But that  cone there, it ain’t gonna open up and drop its seeds unless a wildfire  comes through here.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “A wildfire?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “That’s right,” Uncle Rudy said, scraping the scalp under his cap with his  dirty fingernail. “See them little scales there, how they’re closed up  tight like window shutters? Under-  neath ’em are the seeds—flat little things, flimsy as a baby’s   fingernails—with a point at one end. If a fire comes along, the heat is  gonna cause those scales to peel back and drop their seeds, while the  ground is still scorching hot. Then that tiny seed is gonna burrow in and  take root.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I was nine years old the summer Freeda and Winnalee Malone rushed across  our lives like red-hot flames, peeling back the shutters that sat over our  hearts and our minds, setting free our sweetest dreams and our worst  nightmares. Too young to know at the onset that anything out of the  ordinary was about to happen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e      I was sitting on my knees behind the counter at The Corner Store playing  with my new Barbie doll, her tiny outfits lined up on the scuffed  linoleum. It was the first day of summer   vacation, and Aunt Verdella was watching me because my ma was working for  Dr. Wagner, the dentist, taking appointments and sending out bills and  stuff like that. Aunt Verdella didn’t work, like my ma, but she’d been  filling in at the store for Ada Smithy (who was having a recuperation from  an opera-  tion, because she’d had some ladies’ troubles). It was Aunt Verdella’s  last day, then Ada was coming back, and we could stay at Aunt Verdella’s  while she looked after me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aunt Verdella was standing next to me, the hem of her dress like a blue  umbrella above me. She was talking to Fanny Tilman about Ada, and Aunt  Verdella’s voice sounded almost like it was crying when she said, “Such a  pity, such a pity,” and Fanny Tilman asked her what the pity was for,  anyway. “Ada’s well past her prime, so seems to me that not getting the  curse from here on out should be more of a blessing than a pity,” she  said, and Aunt Verdella said, “But still . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    While they talked, I was trying to get Barbie’s tweed jacket on, which  wasn’t easy because her elbows didn’t bend, and that tiny hand of hers  kept snagging on the sleeve. While I was tugging, I was itching. I was  looking at the little clothes spread out and trying hard to remember if  she was supposed to wear the red jacket with the brown skirt or the green  skirt. I cleared my throat a few times, like I always did when I didn’t  know what I was supposed to do next, and Aunt Verdella looked down at me.  “Button, you’re doin’ that thing with your throat again. What’s the  matter, honey?” Aunt Verdella’s voice was loud, so loud that sometimes it  pained my ears when she wasn’t even yelling, and her body always reminded  me of a snowman made with two balls instead of three. The littlest ball  was her head, sitting right on top of one big, fat ball.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I stood up. My knees felt gritty and I glanced down at them, hoping they  weren’t getting too dirty, because I knew Ma’s lips were gonna pull so  tight they’d turn white, like they always did when Aunt Verdella brought  me home looking all grubby. “I can’t get her jacket on,” I said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I handed Aunt Verdella my Barbie, the tweed jacket flapping at her back.  Aunt Verdella laughed as she took it. Fanny Tilman peered at me, her puffy  eyes puckering. “Is that Reece and Jewel’s little one?” she said, like  Aunt Verdella could hear her but I couldn’t. I put my head down and stared  at a gouge in the gray countertop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Yep, this is our Button,” Aunt Verdella said. She wrapped her freckly  arm—stick-skinny like her legs—around me and pulled me to her biggest  ball. It was soft and warm, not   snowman-cold at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “She looks like Jewel,” Mrs. Tilman said, and she sounded a bit sorry  about this. I saw her looking at my ears, which were too big for my head,  and the face she made made me feel smaller than I already was. Aunt  Verdella thought that long hair would hide my ears until I grew into them,  but Ma said long hair was too much work to keep neat and she already had  enough to do. Every couple of months, she’d snip it short, thin it with  those scissors that have missing teeth, then curl it with a Tony perm.  When she was done, my hair was bunched up in ten or eleven little pale  brown knots. I wanted hair long enough to hang loose past my shoulders and  cover my ears when I was around people, and to put up in a ponytail that  swished my back when I wasn’t. But, shoot, I knew I’d never have anything  but those stubby knots.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aunt Verdella finished dressing Barbie, then handed her to me. I stood  there a minute, wanting to ask her which skirt matched, but I didn’t want  to talk with Fanny Tilman still looking at me, so I sat back down on the  linoleum and stared at the two skirts some more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aunt Verdella had the door propped open with a big rock, because it was  nice outside and the store was too hot with the sun beating through the  windows. I was staring at the doll clothes when the sound of metal  scraping on pavement filled the store.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Uh-oh, somebody’s losing their muffler,” Aunt Verdella said. The racket  from the scraping muffler got louder and sharper before it came to a stop.  Aunt Verdella got up on her tiptoes, the tops of her white shoes making  folds like Uncle Rudy’s forehead did when she brought home a whole  trunkload of junk from the community sale.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Good Lord, look what the cat’s drug into town now,” Fanny Tilman said.  “Just what we need, a band of gypsies.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Oh, Fanny!” Aunt Verdella said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I heard a door creak open, then slam shut. A lady’s voice started talking,  but I couldn’t make out what it was saying. I heard some banging and then,  “Jesus H. Christ! Is anybody gonna come pump my gas or not?” Folks who got  gas at The Corner Store pumped their own gas, except for a couple of old  ladies and the outsiders. Aunt Verdella called out, “I’ll be right there,  dear!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Excuse me, Button,” she said as she stepped over me and hurried around  the counter. I put my fingertips on the counter and pulled myself up to  take a peek. Mrs. Tilman was standing in the open doorway, her purse  clutched in her arms like she thought the “gypsies” were going to try  swiping it. She was busy gawking, so I stood all the way up and peeked out  between the handmade signs Scotch-taped to the window.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The bed of the red pickup truck at the pumps, and the wagon towed behind  it, were piled high with junky furniture I knew didn’t match and boxes  stuffed with bunched-up clothes and dishes that spilled out over the tops.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    My eyes almost bugged out of my head when I saw the lady who was standing  next to the truck while Aunt Verdella pumped her gas. She had the  prettiest color hair I’d ever seen. Red, but like a red I’d never set eyes  on before: shiny like a pot of melted copper pennies. Not dark, not light,  but somewhere in between, and bright like fire. She stretched like a cat,  the sleeveless blouse tied at her waist riding up a belly that was flat  and the color of buttered toast. She was made like my Barbie doll, with  two big bumps under her blouse, a skinny waist, and long legs under  kelly-green pedal pushers. She was wearing a pair of sunglasses with a row  of rhinestones at the corners that shot rays into my eyes when she turned  toward the store. There was something about the lady, too, that shined  just as bright as her hair and those rhinestones. Not a warm kind of  shining, but a sharp kind, like bright sun jabbing through the window and  stinging your eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aunt Verdella cranked her head toward the store and yelled, “Button, bring  Auntie the restroom key, will ya?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I stepped up on the wooden stool and reached for the key, which was taped  to a ruler so it couldn’t get lost easy, and I hurried it outside. As much  as I hated meeting new people, I wanted to see the pretty lady up close.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The Barbie lady took off her sunglasses and poked them into her fiery  hair, which was piled high on her head in a messy sort of way. She had  green eyes like a cat’s, and her eyelids were sparkly with the same color,  clear up to her eyebrows. She had real nice ears too. Tiny, and laying  flat to her head like ears are supposed to. I handed Aunt Verdella the  key, and she gave it to the pretty lady, who was glaring at the truck, a  crabby look on her face. “The ladies’ restroom is right around the west  side of the building, honey,” Aunt Verdella told her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The pretty lady tapped the ruler against her thigh. “Winnalee Malone, I’m  gonna blister your ass if you don’t get out of that truck this instant and  go pee. You hear me?” I’d never heard a lady swear before, so I know my  eyes must have stretched as big as my ears.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The windshield of the truck was blue-black in the sun, so I couldn’t see  who she was talking to. Aunt Verdella put the gas handle back onto the  hook alongside the pump, then headed over to the driver’s door where the  Barbie lady was standing, still tapping the ruler on her leg. “Oh my,”  Aunt Verdella said. “Ain’t you the prettiest little thing! You’ve got a  face like a cherub.” Aunt Verdella said “cherub” more like “cherry-up.”  “Why don’t you come out here and say hello? I got Popsicles inside. A free  one for the first pretty little customer who uses the restroom today.”  Aunt Verdella looked at the lady and winked, then turned back to the  truck. “Come on, now, honey. We don’t bite.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The Barbie lady lifted her arms and slapped them against the sides of her  thighs. “Ah, to hell with you, Winnalee. If you’re gonna be stubborn, then  sit there till your bladder bursts, for all I care. I’m too tired to argue  with you.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Winnalee? Now, ain’t that the prettiest name. Where’d you get a pretty  name like that?” Aunt Verdella asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “From my ma,” said a voice from inside the truck. “It’s a homemade name.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The lady cussed again, like ladies aren’t supposed to do, then she said,  “Winnalee, I’m not going to stand here and piss my pants waiting for you.  You coming or not?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aunt Verdella cranked her head around. “You go on to the restroom, dear. I  got a way with children,” she said, then she winked again. The pretty lady  made a growly sound in her throat, then she headed toward the building,  her heels clacking against the pavement.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It took a while, but finally Aunt Verdella coaxed Winnalee out. When I saw  her, I could hardly believe my eyes: She had long, loopy hair the color of  that stringy part inside a cob of corn, but with some yellow mixed in too,  and it hung clear down to her butt. It didn’t have any rubber bands or  barrettes in it, so it floated in the breeze like a mermaid’s hair under   water. Her face was round and pink, with little lips that looked like they  had lipstick on them. She was wearing a lady’s mesh slip, and it was  rolled up at her round belly to keep it from falling down. She had on a  white sleeveless blouse that belonged on a grown-up too. One side of it  slipped down her arm and she crooked her elbow to keep it from falling all  the way off. She didn’t look at us but turned to reach for something on  the seat. I scootched over by Aunt Verdella to see what the mermaid girl  was getting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Well, my, what do you have there, Winnalee?” Aunt Verdella asked as the  girl slid out of the truck holding a capped, shiny silver vase in her  arms, cradling it like it was a baby doll.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “It’s my ma,” Winnalee said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Your ma?” Aunt Verdella asked, suddenly looking a bit shook up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It was like Aunt Verdella didn’t know what to say—which I was sure was  because she was thinking the same thought as me. That there wasn’t a lady  anywhere small enough to fit into that vase. Either Winnalee was funning  us, or else she was just plain nuts. Instead, Aunt Verdella asked her  about the thick book she had tucked under her armpit. “Button likes to  read big books too, don’t you Button?” she said, putting an arm around me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “It’s her Book of Bright Ideas,” said a voice behind us in the same tone  that the snotty big kids who picked on us little kids at recess used. I  turned and saw the pretty lady standing there, her hands on her hips, her  legs parted. She was looking up and down the street.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It was like Aunt Verdella didn’t know what to say again, so she said  nothing except that if Winnalee was a good little   girl and went potty, she’d give her a Popsicle or an ice   cream bar.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The lady grabbed a big black purse off of the seat of the truck and we all  headed toward the store, Winnalee’s loopy hair dancing, her mesh slip  flapping in the breeze like fins.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Fanny Tilman backed out of the doorway and slipped behind a grocery shelf,  where I knew she was gonna stay hid, like a mouse waiting for somebody to  drop some crumbs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Where you people from?” Aunt Verdella asked as she scooted behind the  counter. The pretty lady took a bottle of RC Cola and one of root beer  from the cooler, then set them down on the counter alongside her purse.  Winnalee was behind her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Gary,” she says. “Gary, Indiana. We drove straight through.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Yeah,” Winnalee said. “We had to leave in the middle of the night. All  because Freeda went dancing with some guy from the meat factory, when she  was supposed to be Harley Hoffesteader’s girl. Harley got so pissed he was  coming after her with a shotgun. Probably would have killed both of us  dead if we hadn’t gotten out of there fast. It don’t matter, though.  Freeda would’ve moved us anyways. She always does.” The lady cuffed her on  the top of her head and Winnalee cried out, “Ouch!” Aunt Verdella flinched  and told Winnalee that maybe she should go potty now, and would she like  me or her to go with her. Winnalee’s nose crinkled. “I’m not a baby,” she  said, then she grabbed the key from the counter and marched out the door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Oh my. Gary. That’s quite a drive. That must be, what, a good three  fifty, four hundred miles from here?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I don’t know.” Freeda shook her head so that wispy strands wobbled  against her long neck. “Hell, I don’t even know where we are.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You’re in Dauber, Wisconsin, dear. Population 3,263,” Aunt Verdella said  proudly. “You thinking of settling here, or are you just passing through?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Freeda shrugged. “I guess one place is as good as another. There any  places to rent around here?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I swear I heard Fanny Tilman (who was peeking up over the bread rack) gasp.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aunt Verdella squeaked her tongue against her teeth as she thought. Then  her puffy lips made a circle like a doughnut. “Ohhhh, well, actually,  there just might be! Well, if you don’t mind living in a place that’s  being fixed up, that is. You see, my husband, Rudy, and his brother,  Reece, their ma passed away a couple a years ago, and we’ve been talking  about renting her place out once Reece gets it fixed up. I keep saying  that a house that sits empty falls to ruin fast, but you know how men are.  Reece—that’s Button here’s daddy—he ain’t gotten around to the repairs  yet, but if you don’t mind him coming and going, I don’t see why we can’t  rent it to you now.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Winnalee came back in and held the key out to me, but looked at Freeda.  “Hey, you said we were going to Detroit! She lies,” she said to me, her  thumb jabbing toward Freeda. Then she leaned over and peered at the mesh  slip she was wearing. “Can you see my undies through this thing?” I  looked, saw a bit of white, and told her I could. She rolled her big,  lake-on-a-sunny-day-colored eyes and sighed. “I tried to tell Freeda that  I was in my underwear, but she went and packed up my clothes anyway.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Freeda grunted. “Like it matters. You’re in dress-up clothes half the  time, anyway, Winnalee.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aunt Verdella talked about Grandma Mae’s place, bragging about the nice  closed-in porch with good screens (all but for the one a barn cat  shredded) and about the flower garden that was already shooting up  daffodils and hyacinths, while she went to the freezer so Winnalee could  pick out a treat. She called me over to have something too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Oh dear, where are my manners,” she said all of a sudden. “I didn’t even  introduce myself yet. I’m Verdella Peters, and this here is my niece,  Evelyn Mae, but we all call her Button. She’s nine years old. How old are  you, Winnalee?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I’m gonna be ten on September first,” she said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Freeda smiled for the first time, and her smile was as pretty as her hair.  “I’m Freeda Malone, and you already know the sassy one. She’s my kid  sister.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Things happened fast then. While Freeda Malone was paying for her gas and  the pop, Aunt Verdella told her they could get something to eat at the  Spot Café. “You girls come back after you’re done eating,” Aunt Verdella  said. “I’m closin’ up in an hour, and you can follow me then.” While Aunt  Verdella chattered, I watched Winnalee eat her grape Popsicle. She didn’t  seem to have one bit of worry about the purple dripping down her hand and  streaking her arm. I had my wrapper cupped around my stick, like you’re  supposed to, so I didn’t have to worry about getting all sticky and  stained.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The minute the Malones left, Aunt Verdella got as light and floaty as  bubbles. Fanny Tilman came out of her hiding place then, looking like a  gray mouse in her wool coat, even though it was too warm for even a little  jacket.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Verdella! Jewel is gonna be fit to be tied, you offering Mae’s house like  that! And to some gypsy drifters, to boot!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aunt Verdella waved Fanny Tilman’s comment away. “It’s gonna be real nice  having people in that house, Fanny. I get so lonely when I look across the  road and see that big, empty place. Mae didn’t take to me much, but still,  it was just nice knowing someone was there.” She looked down at me and  grinned. “And Button here sure could use a little friend, couldn’t you,  Button?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Mrs. Tilman’s mouth pinched. “Good heavens, Verdella. It’s not like  bringing home a litter of abandoned kittens, you know. These are  strangers, and most likely trouble, by the looks of them.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    When the Malones came back, Winnalee had ketchup splotched on her blouse,  right over one of those points sticking out front like two witch’s hats.  Her eyes were a little red, and her cheeks had white streaks on them where  a few tears had washed them. She didn’t look unhappy at the moment,  though, as she squatted to examine the tops of some canned goods where  rainbowy shadows made by something shiny hanging in the window were  flickering.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aunt Verdella took her pay out of the till like she was told to—one dollar  for every hour she worked this week—while I packed up my doll. She folded  the envelope in threes and tucked it into her bra to take home and put in  her jewelry box, where she kept all the money that was going toward the  RCA color television set she wanted. A magazine ad of it was tacked to her  fridge door, where it had hung since I was in the first grade. When she  first came over with that ad, saying she was gonna save up and buy it even  if it took her a lifetime, Ma had taken the TV Guide and showed Aunt  Verdella how, at best, she’d only get three hours of color TV time a day.  Mom repeated this story whenever she wanted to make Aunt Verdella look  foolish. “I told her, look here, on Mondays, you’ll only get forty-five  minutes!” But Verdella just laughed and said, “Long as two of those hours  are used up by As the World Turns and Arthur Godfrey, I’ll be happy.  Besides, by the time I save up $495, who knows, they might all be in  living color!’ ” Aunt Verdella had no idea how much that TV set was gonna  cost her once she finally saved up enough, but she still faithfully put  away every spare dime she had to buy it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aunt Verdella locked up The Corner Store and we climbed into her turquoise  and white Bel Air, which was cluttered with junk. A Raggedy Ann and  Andy—bought from the community sale last summer, just because they were  cute—were propped on the bag of romance magazines that somebody gave her  weeks ago, and wadded-up candy and chip wrappers littered the floor. Aunt  Verdella checked my door three times to make sure it was locked, so I  wouldn’t lean on it and fall out, then made me set down my Barbie case and  climb over the seat to watch out the back window as she backed out, so she  didn’t run anybody over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “It’s okay,” I said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Once we got going, I climbed back into the front seat. I sat close to Aunt  Verdella, her arm warm against my cheek. Aunt Verdella kept looking in the  rearview mirror, making sure that the Malones were still following us.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The shortest way home was down Highway 8, but Aunt Verdella wouldn’t drive  on the highway, so we kicked up dust down one county road after another,  driving for what seemed forever. By the time we got out of the city limits  the insides of my arms were splotched with the red, pimply rash that  sprouted up on them whenever I got rattled. I knew Ma wasn’t gonna be  happy. Not about my dirty knees, and not about the Malones. I slid my jaw  over a bit so my teeth could grab at the bumpy clump of skin inside my  cheek, even though Dr. Wagner told me that if I kept up the nasty habit, I  was gonna bite a hole clear through my face. Aunt Verdella wasn’t worried  like me, though. She sang lines from one of those country songs she always  played on her record player and grinned like she was bringing home  Christmas. The rash itchin’ my arms, though, told me that maybe this was a  package we weren’t supposed to open.","brand":"Delta","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304247873765,"sku":"NP9780385338141","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780385338141.jpg?v=1767738455","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-book-of-bright-ideas-isbn-9780385338141","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}