Victoria Button Arrives to Wicket Lane

It was the third evening of what was promising to be a rather lengthy monsoon when one of the gentlemen belonging to the great old house at the end of Wicket Lane thrust open the front door with a battered old tea cup in his hand. As soon as the door was opened, the gentleman found at his feet a girl no more than eight years of age, bedraggled and wrapped in what appeared to be a man's overcoat. The girl regarded the gentleman with wide brown eyes and a faint smile.

The gentleman simply looked down upon her and remarked, “I was just on my way out to see how quickly the rain would fill this teacup.”

“Whatever for, sir?” inquired the girl.

“I need to know how long it would take for a cat to become thoroughly soaked in this weather. I have already surmised that an average cat is about as large as three tea cups.”

“Well, sir, I suppose it would depend on the absorbency of the cat,” replied the girl.

The gentleman, intrigued by her response, stood staring at the girl for what would be an uncomfortable amount of time to normal people like you and I. However, Miss Victoria Button, the girl, and Mr. Gall, the gentleman, were not, by regular standards, normal people.

Victoria stared right back at the gentleman wondering if it was the humidity of the weather that made his salt and pepper hair stick up all over at odd angles, or if it always looked like that. Meanwhile, Mr. Gall was taking note of Victoria's overcoat. It was a woolen gray thing that hung off of her more like a giant robe than a coat. Her small hands barely peeking out of the long sleeves to reveal short fingernails that had been painted in an assortment of rainbow colored lacquers. She wore a cloche cap of black felt that was clearly too large on top of a short bob of black hair. Her wide, brown eyes were bright and clear not unlike a newly unwrapped bar of Belgian chocolate. She was thin, judging by the way the shoulders of the overcoat hung from her frame. And when she smiled, her front teeth stuck out just a bit over the bottom ones.

“What brings you out in such weather?” questioned Mr. Gall.

“Well, sir, two things really. Your porch seemed rather inviting from the downpour and I have goods to sell,” replied Victoria.

“I suppose you can show me what it is you're selling while I conduct my little experiment,” stated Mr. Gall.

He stepped from the porch, which was a large wraparound type with great swirling wrought iron railings, and stooped down, as he was a tall man, to place the tea cup in the center of the stone walkway. He returned to the safety of the awning and removed a silver pocket watch from his vest. He eyed the tea cup as Victoria unfastened the large, ornate, buttons of her overcoat. Once she had gotten the last one undone, she opened the coat to reveal a plethora of buttons in all shapes, sizes, and colors.

“Ah, that is quite the collection you have there,” remarked Mr. Gall, glancing at the teacup and back to his watch.

“Ten pence a piece, sir,” said Victoria, flashing a wide smile.

Mr. Gall stooped back into the rain and retrieved the teacup. Checking his watch and muttering,

“Thirty-two and a half seconds.” Victoria thought it was rather magical that Mr. Gall's hair did not seem to lay down despite the shower it received in the rain.

Mr. Gall knelt down to more closely inspect Victoria's collection of buttons. “You do seem to have a wide variety of colors and shapes, young lady,” said he.

“Anything you fancy? Maybe you could change out those boring buttons on that vest you've got there?” invited Victoria.

“Well, you see, this particular vest is very special. It would require the most special and unique buttons were I to change them out,” said Mr. Gall.

“Just you wait!” Victoria beamed. Around her waist was a belt that looked as though she had knit it herself. It was rainbow colored to match her nails and tied to the side of her hip. On the belt sat a small satin bag with a kiss-button closure. Victoria took the small bag from the belt and unsnapped the top.

“In here, are the best of all of the buttons,” she said as she opened the little bag.

Inside of the satin bag was a handful of very unique buttons, indeed. There were some made of little shells, some made of colored glass, some of a fine, polished wood, and then there were a set of four buttons that looked as though they were made from the night sky itself. They were round and shiny blue-black with a faint glimmer of silver sparkles.

Mr. Gall was intrigued by these last of the very best buttons. “Well, Miss...”

“Victoria, Victoria Button,” finished Victoria.

“Such an apt name for a girl who sells buttons,” said Mr. Gall.

“I made it up myself,” replied Victoria proudly.

“Well, Miss Victoria Button, how much for these that look like the night sky?” asked Mr. Gall.

“They don't just look like the night sky, sir, they are made from the night sky,” said Victoria.

This statement did not shock Mr. Gall as it would you or I, dear reader, in fact, he readily believed it to be the truth. You see, Mr. Gall was a writer of tales both true and fantastical. In his world, it was perfectly practical to have buttons made from the night sky itself.

(The characters, stories, and details included in any and all tales of Victoria Button are copyrighted 2014-2019 by myself, L.A. Vandewart, and all rights are reserved.)