Full Speed Ahead: My Journey with Kit

The railroad bulls march us forward: Mr. Birdseye, Kit, Buddy, and me. Soon we reach a crossroads. A sign points downhill “To Lewis Falls” and another uphill “To Mountain Hollow.” I ask Kit if that’s where her Aunt Millie lives. She nods, looking longingly up the hill.

The bulls steer us toward Lewis Falls, and Mr. Birdseye asks if the children and dog can go on to our kinfolk in Mountain Hollow instead. The tall bull refuses at first, until Birdseye points out that we’ll only slow them down at the jail, moving no faster than molasses in January. The shorter bull agrees it’s not worth the trouble, and the tall one relents, warning us not to get caught hopping trains again. We thank them, say goodbye to Mr. Birdseye, and run uphill toward Mountain Hollow with Buddy at our heels.

We don’t run for long. The hill is steep, winding up the mountain with a drop-off into the woods on one side and a rise on the other, and the pine branches overhead trap the heat without letting in any breeze. I think of Mom’s walks and wish I’d said yes to one sooner, but with the camera around my neck and Buddy and Kit beside me, I’m not about to turn back now, no matter how tempting it might be.

I catch up to Kit, who wipes her forehead and says Mountain Hollow can’t be much farther, even though her family drove a different road last time. We trudge on.

Before long I hear rushing water. Leaving the road sounds risky, but Buddy makes the decision for us and heads down through the woods.

Kit and I follow, slipping on loose leaves and stones and grabbing at trees to steady ourselves, until we reach a pool fed by a waterfall spilling over the rocks in a smooth, silvery curtain, like something out of a fairy tale. We kneel and splash our faces with the icy water, and Kit peels off her shoes and socks to wade in, urging me to do the same.

I hesitate. At Camp Mosquito, I never even dunked a toe in the lake for fear of water bugs and nibbling fish, and I’ve only ever swum in chlorinated pools. But the heat wins out, and I slip off the camera and my shoes and socks and ease one foot, then the other, into the water. It feels wonderful.

Kit wades in up to her knees and holds out her hand until I realize I can’t be a wimp and follow. We splash and whoop, kick our legs in the shallows, and stand under the waterfall letting it shower over our heads while Buddy paddles and frolics around us.

Once we’re dressed again, I decide hiking might be worth the effort after all, even if I’ve always thought of it as hard work for nothing. The climb back up to the road is hard work. Kit carries a worn-out Buddy the rest of the way. We can’t be sure which way is right once we reach the path, but we follow it and hope.

Buddy stops and sniffs the air, and we catch the smell of smoke. I worry it’s a forest fire, but Kit decides it’s more likely a chimney. A real fire would bring more smoke and noise than this. Sure enough, we soon reach a clearing with a run-down cabin, its roof sagging under moss and moisture, its porch sloped forward and its steps tilting every which way, smoke curling from the chimney.

We’re tired and lost enough to risk knocking. Inside, someone is singing sweetly. The singing stops when Kit knocks, and a thin young woman in a faded, patched dress opens the door. Seeing only children and a dog, she relaxes.

Kit introduces us and explains we’re trying to reach Mountain Hollow but may have taken a wrong turn. The woman, Mrs. Littlefield, says we’ve taken the long way rather than the wrong one, and offers to show us a shortcut once we’ve rested a while on her steps.

Mrs. Littlefield brings out her baby, Eli, bright-eyed and curly-haired, whose clothes are clean but old and frayed, and hands us dried apple slices. Kit eats hers without hesitation; I’m used to food that comes wrapped in plastic, but I’d rather not seem rude to someone with so little to spare, and the apple turns out sweet, chewy, and delicious.

Once we mention Kit’s Aunt Millie, who lives with Myrtle Peabody, Mrs. Littlefield says she can lead us there directly, no need to backtrack to Mountain Hollow. She sings as she leads us up a narrow path straight up the mountain, and soon Kit and I are singing along, too, our feet feeling lighter with every step.