Full Speed Ahead: My Journey with Kit

I admit to Kit that I’m not much of a writer, so I offer to stay outside and help her and Buddy instead. Kit grins, glad for the help. The garden work is hot and dirty. Soon we’re both sweaty, my pants smeared with dirt, and Kit’s sundress spotted with mud.

A boy screeches to a stop on his bike and stares at us over the fence. Kit warily says hello to Roger, who sneers that he’s known she was a maid since her dad lost his job, but now she’s a dirt farmer, too. We ignore him, but he keeps jeering. School starts soon, and she better start scrubbing dirt off her hands, since in those clothes she looks like a scarecrow, probably her back-to-school outfit since her dad can’t afford anything new, maybe a flower-sack dress if she’s lucky.

This guy is a real jerk, worse than obnoxious Harry Sharma. I turn to Roger and try a knock knock joke. He just stares, so I realize knock knock jokes probably haven’t been invented yet and do the whole thing myself.

Roger stares in silence, so I tell him to figure it out and try another knock knock joke. This time he plays along: “Uhh, who’s there?” “Boo.” “Boo who?” I tell him not to be such a crybaby. It’s just a joke.

Kit bursts out laughing. Roger, red-faced, mutters that it’s very funny, then barks at the chickens through the wire, setting off a storm of clucking and flapping. Grace howls from inside, and the timing makes it sound like everyone is laughing at him. He pedals off in a huff, and we collapse in laughter.

We wash off at the spigot, hands and faces clean but dress and pants still streaked with mud. Heading inside, I notice Kit seems down and ask what’s wrong. I tell her not to let a creep like Rotten Roger get to her. Kit agrees he’s rotten, but worries he’s right. Even clean, her skirt is old-fashioned, and her one nice dress is too good for school, saved for church and parties. She wishes she had something new for the first day, but there’s no money, not with any extra going toward Charlie’s college and every penny needed for the twenty-dollar-a-month mortgage.

Now I feel down, too. Izza and I blow twenty dollars just going to the movies. I wish I had that much cash and a new outfit to give Kit right now.

In the kitchen, six people look at me with curiosity. A nice-looking man guesses I must be Lulu and introduces himself as Kit’s father, nodding toward two boys building a kite at the table: Charlie, Kit’s brother, and Stirling Howard, one of the boarders. Both greet me, and I blush, embarrassed to meet everyone looking like a wreck, especially since Charlie is movie-star handsome.

Mrs. Kittredge introduces Stirling’s mother, Mrs. Howard, and two boarders, Miss Hart and Miss Finney, who greet me in unison, sounding so comical that everyone laughs. Dressed in old-fashioned nurses’ uniforms with white stockings and stiff white hats, they look ready for a costume party, until I remember this is just how nurses dress in the 1930s.

Mrs. Kittredge thanks me for helping in the garden and offers lunch. I decline, not wanting to stretch food they’re already growing to save money. As I pick up the potato sack to leave, Kit offers to walk me to the train yard, reminding her mother of a box of old clothes in Kit’s room to drop off at the soup kitchen or church on our way.

Upstairs, Kit’s attic room has four quirky alcoves tucked under the steep roof, one each for a desk, a reading chair, a bed, and sports equipment. But I barely notice, because I spot the box of old clothes and my eyes pop.

I lift one dress out and flip out. It’s gorgeous, a slippery cotton satin catching the light like silk, rosy with cheery bunches of flowers. A coffee stain, an unraveled lace collar, and a frayed sleeve explain why Mrs. Kittredge calls it unusable, but my heart pounds because I know it isn’t.

I ask Kit if her mother’s really giving this away, and whether she’d mind if I altered it. Kit shrugs, so I have her raise her arms and slip the dress over her head, telling her it’s going to be her back-to-school dress. Kit looks puzzled, so I explain that clothes are my hobby. I like taking them apart and remaking them into something new.

Kit says Mother always tries to make over old clothes, but this one might be hopeless. I tell her it’s not, and she fetches scissors and the sewing basket. Kneeling at her feet, I take a deep breath. Mom says I’m fearless with scissors, but I’m nervous, since I’ve never altered a dress for anyone but myself, and this one has to be perfect.

So I snip, snip, cutting the coffee-stained hem shorter, pulling off the tattered lace collar, and removing the sleeves. My nerves turn to excitement as I cut, pin, and baste, no time for careful seams now. I tack on a collar cut from a white shirt, and presto, a pretty dress takes shape. I turn Kit to the mirror and ask what she thinks.

Kit gasps and says she loves it, asking how I made something so pretty out of Mother’s old dress. I shrug, though I’ve never felt prouder, surprised my goofy hobby turned out to be so useful.