The Luck of the Buttons

by Anne Ylvisaker

  Tugs dropped her dishes in the sink and tossed her apron over a chair.

  “Give ’em the what for,” said Granny.

  “Just tell the truth,” said her mother.

  Tugs grabbed her father’s hand. She glanced over at the Dostals’ house, but there was no sign of Harvey Moore, or Mr. or Mrs. Dostal, either.

  “No one’s home next door,” she said, feeling lighter.

  Father Button nodded. “Nope,” he said.

  “Do you think the mayor will give me a ribbon?” said Tugs. She skipped ahead of her father, then back. She didn’t have patience for his slow and steady pace. Yesterday had been eternal, and Tugs was excited that the whole ordeal would be over with soon. She would write Aggie as soon as she got home and tell her not to worry.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” said her father. “I done my best, but all the mayor said was he’d look into it. mayor Corbett likes the idea of that newspaper, and he’s going to be reluctant to let it go.”

  “Did you show him the clipping? Did you tell him about the car? How Mr. Moore didn’t know about it being out of gas until I told him? And about Carl’s Alley and the Rowdies? And the Thompson twins and Standard Oil?”

  “I told him what I could remember, Tugs. Now, just walk like a lady and we’ll see what we see.”

  City Hall stood next to the post office. Tugs had never been inside. It wasn’t a big building, but it had a heavy presence to it. They were a bit early, and the mayor’s secretary was not at her desk. They could hear voices from inside the office.

  “Should we knock?” whispered Tugs. They stood a moment, considering, then Tugs’s father walked up to the door and gave a tentative knock. There was no answer, so he knocked again a bit louder.

  mayor Corbett himself swung the door open.

  “Hello, mayor!” Tugs beamed, eager to receive his praise. But the mayor’s face was stern.

  “Robert, Tugs,” he said. He opened the door and gestured for them to follow him. Tugs stepped in eagerly, then stopped short. There, standing next to the mayor’s desk, was Harvey Moore. For once, he was not smiling. He took off his hat and fiddled with the brim.

  “Have a seat,” mayor Corbett said, gesturing to the two chairs facing his desk. Tugs edged into one and inched it closer to her father’s. The mayor stood behind his desk, next to Harvey Moore.

  “Robert, you did right telling me about Tugs’s accusations, and I’m glad you brought her down here today. It’s a good thing you talked to me, not the rest of town. Rumors get started. Damage can be done.”

  “I don’t understand,” Father Button said, rising from his chair. “This man is not . . .”

  mayor Corbett motioned for him to sit, and looked at Tugs.

  “Tugs, your father told me your story about Mr. Moore. You made some serious charges, young lady. Now, my job as mayor is to protect and serve all members of this community, and that includes residents, such as yourself, and guests, such as Mr. Moore here. I called Mr. Moore in and told him what you said. Showed him this clipping, which is thin evidence, indeed, to say nothing of the vandalism you perpetrated to get it.” He slapped it down on his desk.

  “I reviewed the facts. And while it embarrassed him to have to do it, Mr. Moore provided me with a list of personal references to account for his character.”

  “But —” Tugs interrupted. The mayor held up his hand to silence her.

  “But nothing, Tugs. I chatted with Mr. Moore, and I assured him I don’t need to call his references. A man who can look another man in the eye and shake his hand firmly, that’s a man that’s telling the truth.

  “Now, I don’t know where your wild imagination came up with these preposterous claims, but I am very disappointed. Very disappointed, indeed, that a citizen like you, a patriotic essay winner, would try to stand in the way of progress.

  “Do you know what slander means? Slander is a false report, one that can damage a person’s reputation. In this case, it could even derail the publication of a town newspaper. Imagine if people heard your claims, pulled back their money.

  “There needs to be consequences for such behavior, Tugs. And I have asked Mr. Moore here to help me arrive at a suitable recompense.”

  Tugs looked questioningly over at her father. He reached out and took her hand. She slumped in her chair.

  “Thank you, mayor,” Mr. Moore said, setting his hat on the mayor’s desk. “Now, I don’t want to be too harsh on the child, Mr. Button, but I’m sure you’ll agree, my reputation has been damaged. There is the question of how many people she’s entertained with this wild tale, for instance.”

  “Tugs?” her father asked. “Besides your mother and me, and Granny?”

  Tugs ran through the list in her head. How could she face Aggie again? And what if the Thompson twins told Miss Lucy?

  “Tugs!” mayor Corbett was saying. “Are you listening?”

  “I . . .” Tugs started, but a sharp rap at the door interrupted her.

  “What now?” said mayor Corbett. “Where is Miss Wert? She takes the longest lunches.” There was another rap, then the door swung open.

  Mr. Millhouse strode into the room, with Aggie just behind him.

  “Tugs!” Aggie cried, and ran to Tugs.

  “Aggie! I got your letter!”

  “I know. I got yours, too.”

  “mayor,” said Harvey Moore briskly, “I see you have company. We can finish our business later.” He slipped past mayor Corbett.

  “Mr. Millhouse,” he said with a nod.

  “Not so fast, Mr. Door,” said Mr. Millhouse.

  “Door?” repeated mayor Corbett. “It’s Moore. Harvey Moore. We’re almost through here, then. . . .”

  “I’m afraid you’ve been deceived, mayor. This man is not Harvey Moore. If you’ll all have a seat, including you, Mr. Door, I’ll explain.”

  But Harvey Moore was already out the door.

  “Don’t worry, mayor,” said Mr. Millhouse. “Officer Miller and his men are waiting for him outside.”

  “I’m afraid I — I — I . . .” mayor Corbett stuttered.

  “He’s a fraud, mayor. A swindler. We got an emergency call from Aggie’s summer camp yesterday. They said Aggie was sick and we should drive out and get her.”

  “Are you sick?” gasped Tugs, grabbing Aggie’s arm.

  “She’s not sick,” continued Mr. Millhouse. “Aggie, why don’t you tell the story?”

  “I got a letter from Tugs yesterday. She told me about seeing Mr. Moore in the Chicago paper, only he was the crook Mr. Door. She said how he is out to ruin my father and everyone else in Goodhue, too. I tried telling my camp counselors, but they thought I was spinning a yarn. I knew I had to tell my father right away, so I played sick so they’d call him.”

  “I admit I was skeptical at first,” said Mr. Millhouse. “But I did put a call in to the Chicago police this morning, and what Tugs says is true. Harvey Moore is just one of many aliases used by Mr. Door as he travels to small towns like our own, swindles its citizens, and moves on. He’s a slippery fellow, and there are a lot of people looking for him. I was deceived — we were all deceived — by a slick smile, a quick wit, and a story we wanted to believe.”

  Tugs looked from Mr. Millhouse to her father to the mayor.

  “I’m flabbergasted,” said mayor Corbett, sinking into his chair. “Simply flabbergasted.” Absently, he picked up the Panama Mr. Moore had left on his desk. “Well, look at that,” he said wearily. He turned the underside of the hat toward them. An envelope was stitched into the crown. mayor Corbett pulled out a stack of bills, shaking his head in wonder.

  Mr. Millhouse held out his hand to shake Father Button’s.

  “Mr. Button, I presume? You have a fine, fine daughter here. Tugs, you are welcome in our home anytime.”

  Tugs beamed. She had been right. And here was Aggie, better than in her picture.

  Picture.

  “Eldora and Elmira!” Tugs gasped. “Leopold!” She grabbed her fa
ther’s hand. “We have to go!”

  “Who?” said her father and Aggie at the same time.

  “The ladies next to the library?” asked Mr. Millhouse.

  “But who is Leopold?” said mayor Corbett.

  “The Rowdies! Oh, no. They don’t know . . . They are going to . . .” continued Tugs.

  “Slow it down, Tugs,” said mayor Corbett. “What is the matter?”

  Tugs explained as quickly as she could about Mr. Moore, the Rowdies, and the twins.

  Mr. Millhouse nodded grimly. “Yes, the Thompson twins. I was informed that they had withdrawn a large amount of cash. Well.”

  “I’ll ring Officer Miller,” said mayor Corbett.

  “He and his men are with Mr. Door,” said Mr. Millhouse.

  Father Button spoke up then. “Do you have your car, Mr. Millhouse? We should just go over there.”

  Tugs grabbed the clipping off mayor Corbett’s desk as they all hurried out to the street.

  “What on earth?” Mr. Millhouse said.

  They slowed to a stop near the library.

  “Well, I never,” said Mr. Button, sitting between Mr. Millhouse and the mayor.

  “What? What?” said Aggie and Tugs from the backseat.

  They piled out of the car.

  Eldora and Elmira sat primly in their chairs on the porch, surrounded by Rowdies sitting on the steps and the porch rail, leaning against the house, all munching on cookies. Miss Lucy was there, too.

  “It’s our girl!” said Elmira, seeing Tugs. “I can tell by that wide hair.”

  “She brought a posse with her this time. Come join the party!” said Eldora.

  “Meet our new friends,” said Elmira. “These fellows rescued our Leopold! He’d gotten off to heaven knows where this morning and we were bereft.”

  “BeREFT!” Eldora echoed.

  “We were inside making jam . . .”

  “Truth be told, we were eating jam with a spoon . . .”

  “Yes, well. We didn’t hear a knock at the door, but we turned around and there were these two boys just alike. Look at them!” Elmira patted Finn’s and Frankie’s cheeks.

  “They are so alike!” said Elmira. “Just like us. And so I said, ‘Don’t know how you got in here, but how about some jam?’”

  “And the one said — I’ll never forget, it was the sweetest thing — he said, ‘We prefer cookies.’” The sisters laughed so hard, they had to pull out their hankies and dab at their eyes.

  “We prefer cookies,” repeated Elmira. “Doesn’t that just beat all? Of course they prefer cookies. They’re growing boys. So we opened up our cookie jar.”

  “We always keep it stocked.”

  “And that’s when their friends came in, Leopold marching right behind them.”

  “Doesn’t it beat all?”

  mayor Corbett jumped in then. “I don’t understand. Tugs seemed to think . . .” But Miss Lucy interrupted him, holding up her hand.

  “mayor. I happened to look out the reference materials window this afternoon and saw this . . . ah . . . group of young people going to visit the Misses Thompson. I intercepted them for a short chat.” She gave the Rowdies a knowing look. “And it turns out they were just going to lead Leopold home. Right, boys? And Bess?”

  They all nodded, a bit sheepishly.

  “They have agreed to keep an eye out for Leopold from now on, and for the Thompson twins. In fact, they will be back next week to sweep their walk and help with their garden. Won’t you, boys? And Bess?”

  “Well, then,” said Father Button. “I guess we could be moseying along now.”

  “Oh, don’t go yet!” said Elmira. “The party’s just getting good.”

  “And I want to know what happened to your crook, Tugs! Where’s your dashing crook What’s-His-Name?” said Eldora.

  “Mr. Moore,” said Elmira. “Also known as Dapper Jack, wasn’t that it?”

  “Crook?” said Miss Lucy. “Mr. Moore? Dapper . . .”

  Tugs looked at her father.

  “Go on up to the porch, Tugs. Tell everyone the story.”

  Tugs threaded her way up the steps past Luther Tingvold and Walter Williams.

  “Right here, Tugs,” said Miss Lucy, motioning for Tugs to stand in front of the railing. Tugs looked out at the yard, where a small crowd had spilled out of the library, joining the Millhouses, her father, and mayor Corbett. Mary Louise and her mother came out of their house to see what the commotion was all about.

  Tugs felt shy, but there was her father, and Aggie Millhouse, smiling up at her. She wished Ned were there, too.

  “It started when Mr. Moore didn’t know our car was out of gas,” said Tugs. She paused to compose the sequence of events in her head. “And then he didn’t know the way downtown or where his office was. Now that I think about it, he didn’t answer to his name when I called out to him, either. He was too nice on the outside, but not at all nice when adults weren’t around. I don’t know. Something didn’t feel right. So I was suspicious of him. And he kept taking money from people. It seemed like a lot of money.

  “Then Miss Thompson and Miss Thompson told me about their pictures being in the old newspaper.”

  “That’s us!” squealed Elmira.

  “Shhh,” said Eldora.

  “So I went to the library to look at old newspapers, and I found this article and photograph.” Tugs dug in her pocket and pulled out the clipping, folded into a small square. She looked at Miss Lucy. “Sorry, Miss Lucy. I took it out of the paper. Here.” Tugs handed it to Miss Lucy.

  “Not to worry,” said Miss Lucy, studying the photo closely.

  “It’s about a man named Dapper Jack Door. That’s who Harvey Moore is. He goes to towns like ours and makes up stories that make people want to give him money. Then he leaves town with their money, and they don’t get anything in return. But Officer Miller has him now, and everyone’s money is at the Dostals’. You’ll get it back.”

  “My stars,” exclaimed Miss Lucy. “She’s right. The likeness in this picture is uncanny. Tugs! If you hadn’t noticed this and acted on your suspicions, I just don’t know where we’d be.” Miss Lucy gave Tugs a hug and addressed the gathering.

  “Citizens of Goodhue,” she said, “check your clothing. Is anyone wearing a button? Do you know what the meaning of button is? It’s a fastener, of course. We use ordinary buttons every day.

  “But button also means ‘to bring to a successful conclusion.’ And Tugs Button defined that word for us today. I shudder to think! We thought we were going to get a newspaper here. The Goodhue Progress. Many of us, myself included, dipped into our resources to make it happen. But all this time a con artist was hoodwinking us. My stars.

  “Swindling is not progress. If it weren’t for you, Tugs, that scoundrel would have been on his way out of town with our money.

  “Some people have a lucky rabbit’s foot, or a lucky coin, but here in Goodhue, we have a lucky Button. Tugs Button. Let’s hear it for Tugs!”

  Everyone clapped. Even the Rowdies and Mary Louise. The Thompson twins loudest of all.

  Tugs waved shyly, then ducked off the porch to stand next to Aggie.

  “We should probably go,” she said to her father. “Want to come over, Aggie?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  The crowd started to break up. People stopped and patted Tugs on the back and shook her hand as they walked by.

  “Wait!” hollered Elmira from the porch.

  “Hold up!” Eldora chimed in. The sisters helped each other down the steps and hurried toward Tugs. “Here,” they said. “We want you to have this.” They each shoved a blue Brownie camera at Tugs.

  “I couldn’t,” said Tugs.

  “You can!” they said.

  “All right,” Tugs agreed. “But just one.” She took one of the perfect undented blue Brownies and handed back the other.

  “Then your sister can have the other,” said Eldora, handing a camera to Aggie.

  “We aren’t sis
ters,” said Tugs and Aggie, laughing.

  “Good as,” said Elmira. “Take it anyhow. You’ll have more fun together.”

  “Thank you,” said Tugs. “We’ll take pictures for you.”

  “I think Tugs has mine,” said Eldora to Elmira.

  “I’m quite sure she’s got mine,” said Elmira, and they teetered back to the porch, where Leopold was just slipping out from between the rails.

  I am grateful to those who helped me raise this book:

  Editor Deborah Noyes Wayshak asked, believed, propelled.

  Dan Baldwin made lightning strike during every brainstorm, and Leigh Brown Perkins’s keen insight was my flashlight through draft after draft.

  A picnic on the Iowa prairie introduced me to Tugs Button and an extraordinary group of bookmakers, the Tall Grass Writers, whose joyful spirit keeps me writing: Michelle Edwards, Carol Gorman, Jacqueline Briggs Martin, and Claudia McGehee.

  My mother ignited my passion for books and writing by placing a notebook in my one hand and a library card in the other. That library card led me to my own Miss Lucy, Lucy Selander at the Roosevelt branch of the Minneapolis Public Library. Her power to divine the right book for the right moment enchanted my childhood.

  Anne Ylvisaker is the author of Dear Papa, which Booklist named a Top Ten First Novel for Youth, and Little Klein, a Book Sense Children’s Pick and winner of numerous awards, including the Midwest Booksellers’ Choice Award.

  About The Luck of the Buttons, she says, “I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of the hidden narrator in a photograph, the person behind the lens. The chicken picture shown on the cover of this book has long been a favorite of mine, and one day as I tried to imagine the circumstances of its creation, Tugs Button appeared, eager to tell her family’s story.” Formerly of Iowa and Minnesota, Anne Ylvisaker now lives in California with her family.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2011 by Anne Ylvisaker