Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains

by Laurel Snyder

  Finally Lucy looked up, her eyes grim and her jaw set. She noticed that the boat was drifting sideways and that Wynston couldn’t manage both paddles on his own. She picked up a paddle and dipped it into the water.

  “Rosebud!” called Lucy. “I’m so, so sorry! I love you, sweet girl. I’ll come back for you just as soon as I can.”

  Rosebud heard Lucy’s voice carrying across the water, and she struggled to free herself. She arched her neck and shook her big soft head. She couldn’t understand what had happened, but when she saw the little boat pulling far out toward the edge of the mist—when she saw that Lucy had turned her back and was paddling away—her gentle cow heart broke.

  And all of the villagers stopped pulling and stared at her. Because when Rosebud cried, she made the saddest sound of all. And nobody could believe it.

  “Loooooooooocyyyy—!” called the cow. But Lucy was gone.

  DOWN AND DOWN AND FURTHER DOWN

  THE SMALL crew just paddled sadly for a while, missing Rosebud and Sprout and feeling stunned. Once they were far enough away to be sure nobody was chasing them, Lucy dropped her paddle. She slumped, her fingers trailing in the water.

  Wynston felt awful too, but he knew that Lucy felt worse, so he busied himself by moving Cat-in-the-bag to the far corner of the vessel. Then he stared at the huge jagged rocks all around the boat. Luckily, the boat was not rushing toward the perilous stones but floating lazily along. Wynston examined the situation. When the next rock was within two feet of the boat, he gently pushed it with his paddle, so that they drifted forward and away from the rock. Within seconds, another rock threatened and Wynston did the same. “This isn’t so hard,” he murmured to himself. “Not bad at all.”

  “That’s because you’re doing it all wrong!” Lucy’s voice broke sharply through his concentration. She had unslumped herself. “Let me try!” Lucy wiped away her tears and pushed Wynston out of the way. “You have to hold it like this!”

  Reluctantly, Wynston handed over the paddle. “Okay, but look out! There’s one right there,” he called, as a rock nearly crushed his side of the boat.

  “Of course there is, and I almost missed it because you’re distracting me!”

  “Sorry,” said Wynston. He wasn’t really very sorry, but he knew Lucy was having a hard time. “Are you okay, Lucy? You don’t need to pretend. If you feel sad, you can—”

  “I can’t concentrate with you yelling all the time!” snapped Lucy as she pushed the boat away from the next ragged patch of stones. “Hush up!” Wynston understood. Lucy wasn’t mad. She was just trying not to cry.

  For the next hour, the little crew navigated the obstacle course of stones, but they were pleasantly surprised to discover that the rocks weren’t really all that hard to avoid. The water was amazingly slow-moving and the stones were well placed, almost as though they’d been set carefully into the river as a barrier of some kind. But a barrier to what? Lucy waited for the current to speed up, but the boat continued to float slowly.

  “This is a snap!” exclaimed Wynston.

  “Yeah, it’s not so bad,” Lucy finally said. “I think we’re in the clear.” Her voice was quieter than usual, but she sounded more like her old self.

  Wynston stopped paddling for a second and turned. “About your mother…”

  Lucy’s voice shook a little when she said, “What about her?”

  Wynston hesitated when he heard the sadness in Lucy’s voice, but then went on. “I’m just not sure I understand.”

  “What’s to understand?”

  “Why does it matter so much? I don’t have a mother either.”

  Lucy sighed as she paddled. She’d known they’d have to talk about it at some point. “I guess it feels different. I mean, you see your mother every day, hanging up in the throne room. Your father talks about her, and you’ve visited her grave. It isn’t some big secret for you. But for me…well, it is…and I’m sick of it. I just want to know.”

  “I understand.” Wynston nodded. “But this seems like a strange way to go about finding out. I mean, why run off to the mountains?”

  “There’s that song she taught me, and I thought there’d be something here that might tell me about her. I guess I knew all along I probably wouldn’t really find her…but I wanted to see where she was from, and I thought I might find a clue to where she is….”

  “Well, you saw the mountain. Did it help?”

  “No, not really. And I asked Steven’s mother about her, but she’d never even heard of a Nora in Torrent. And you heard what the chief said—that he didn’t know her either. There’s only the one town on the mountain, so she must not be here.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense.”

  “Wynston, was I crazy to come?”

  “Well, if nobody ever said she was…” Wynston was afraid to say the word dead again. “Gone…if nobody ever told you that, I guess anything is possible. Though I never thought about it before myself, not like that.”

  “I never did until recently. But if there’s no big secret, why is everyone so mysterious about her?”

  “It is a weird kind of a secret. Maybe you’re right.”

  “But then why had nobody ever heard of her back in Torrent?”

  “Maybe we need to try another mountain….” They both looked up at the craggy cliffs of the second mountain, which was miles and miles away—a journey of weeks, not days.

  “Maybe…” Lucy sounded doubtful. “But Steven’s mom said they were just gravel and stone. I don’t think she’d go there.”

  “You know, Lucy, you could ask your father.”

  “Yeah, I guess so…but it’ll make him so sad. And he’s already going to be sad, because now I’ve lost Rosebud. Sad or really angry…” Lucy cringed just thinking about it.

  She was about to say something else, but suddenly she yelled out happily instead. Two seconds later, Wynston followed suit, because they could finally see the end of the rocks. There ahead of them was clean, open water and sky. Even Cat poked his head from the bag when Lucy called out, “That’s it, that’s the last of them! From here on out, I think we’re home free!” Jumping up and down in the little boat, Lucy and Wynston were too excited to notice a strange new sound, a rushing roaring noise. Cat noticed the whoosh and splash of the sound, but when he tugged on Lucy’s skirt, she only began to sing happily, a silly Thistle song.

  In Thistle, where your dad is king,

  The dogs all bark and the birds all sing,

  But sometimes when it’s getting dark,

  The dogs all sing and the birds all—

  But as they passed the last stone, Wynston cut her off. He leaned eagerly forward to look down at the river and called out, “Here we go—the current should pick up any minute now. Thistle, here we come!” He reached over to touch the surface of the water, but when he did, he pitched suddenly from his seat. He flew into the air and screamed, “Aaaghghgh!” Then he disappeared from sight, over the side of the boat.

  Lucy stood up with her mouth still open, confused, but only for a heartbeat. Because exactly one second behind Wynston, the entire boat fell. Lucy gasped and clutched for Cat. Down, down, down the boat tumbled, down they all fell, flying from their boat—into the air and over the waterfall.

  Down they plunged, somersaulting all the way. Down into the cold water of the now fast-moving river. Thankfully, it was a short fall, and Wynston surfaced quickly, coughing and sputtering. He fought the current and swam to the side of the river. He sat in the cattails, holding fast to the riverbank and shaking the river water from his ears. He plunged his head under the water to look for his friends, but the water was too muddy and grassy, and he couldn’t see a thing.

  …one second behind Wynston, the entire boat fell.

  After a while, Lucy’s head popped up, and she spit out a mouthful of water. “Are you okay? Where’s Cat?” Wynston asked.

  “I’ve got him, I think,” said Lucy. “Or, if I don’t, I have hold of something else wet and furry. Ugh.”
She fished Cat from the water and began to swim toward Wynston. Wynston looked down at the bedraggled mess of miserable river-soaked Cat.

  Cat sneezed. “Fishtoo!”

  Once up on the bank, Lucy collapsed onto her stomach. For long minutes she lay like that, one arm curled around Cat, who was (of course) curled once more into a shaking ball. Then Lucy began to weep. Wynston had never seen Lucy cry like this before. He felt afraid, but he reached a hand out to stroke her head.

  “Luce?” he said. “It’ll all be okay. Rosebud will be okay.”

  Lucy heaved on the ground awhile longer, but finally she rolled over and wrapped her arms around Wynston. He could feel her tears on his neck, and they felt strange and soft. But then Lucy pushed away.

  “I am so sick and tired of this adventure,” Lucy laughed and cried all at once, wiping the tears and spit and grass from her face. “I am so hungry, and I just want to go home!”

  “It’s okay, Lucy. We’ll go home and talk to my father, restock our provisions, and head back up the mountain. We’ll get Rosebud back,” Wynston said. “And while we’re at it, we’ll bring Sprout home too. I already miss that darn horse.”

  “Yeah,” said Lucy.

  “I don’t suppose you have a plan yet?” asked Wynston.

  “Nope, but I’m working on it.”

  “I’ll just bet.” Wynston began to laugh. He pointed. “You should see yourself!” He guffawed and splashed water at her. “Your hair is just terrible!” He hooted and beat his chest. “Gosh, I feel like I’ve been whispering ever since I got to Torrent.”

  Lucy yawped too. “Aaaaaah!” she yelled, and then said, “Oh, that does feel good!”

  Cat heard their boisterous chatter and uncurled himself in the sun. He began to lick himself dry while Lucy splashed Wynston back. “Look at yourself, you honorable prince! What’s the proper royal etiquette for a waterfall ride?” She splashed harder. “You prince of river mud in your throne of weeds—your father would have a fit if he could see you now!”

  “Know what? I don’t even care.”

  “You’ll care the minute King Desmond gets hold of you.”

  Wynston thought seriously for a second. “I don’t think so. Really. Look at all the things that have happened. I’ve run away from home, saved a man from a treacherous stew pot, rescued a widow from eviction, broken into a jail, and fallen down a waterfall. But when I get home, what will my royal father say? He’ll be angry because I’ve ruined my fourth-best jacket, or maybe because I’ve missed my roast pheasant–carving class. Who cares?” And with that, Wynston climbed up onto the riverbank. He walked downriver about twenty feet, where he could see the boat upturned against a rotting log. “Who really cares at all?”

  Lucy followed Wynston to the boat, where he was bent over, tugging at a corner of the capsized craft. She could tell something was happening inside her friend, and she didn’t know quite what it was. “Wynston, need any help?”

  Wynston looked up, frowned, and smiled just a little. “No, I just love turning wet boats over all by myself! It’s my most favorite way to spend an afternoon.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Lucy, but she waded back into the river beside him. Together Wynston and Lucy grunted, tugged, and flipped the boat. They scooped it dry with their cupped hands while Lucy finished her song.

  In Thistle where your dad is king,

  The dogs all bark and the birds all sing,

  But sometimes when it’s getting dark,

  The dogs all sing and the birds all bark.

  And sometimes on a summer day,

  While the horses moo and the cows say neigh,

  I braid my socks and I fold my hair,

  Then I go to sleep on a straight-backed chair.

  On a Thistle-ish day in a Thistle-y town,

  The girls fly up and the boys swim down,

  And everyone knows what everything means—

  Since things make sense when you sense these things.

  When she was finished, Wynston said, “That’s a pretty good song, Luce, but it doesn’t really make any sense.”

  “Ha. I’ve had enough of making sense to last a lifetime. Laws and sense and sense and laws! Phooey.”

  Wynston agreed. “Yeah, phooey.”

  “I’d like to see you make up a better song.” Lucy waited, her hands on her hips. She tapped her toe and said, “Not so easy, is it?”

  Wynston thought of his own sorry attempt at songwriting when he had been alone at night on the mountain. “All right, you win. How about instead I tell you a funny story?” Lucy agreed, and Wynston told her about his own adventures on the road to the Scratchy Mountains—about Sally crying into her apron, and Willie Wimple in the soup pot, and Persimmon and her braids. Lucy laughed at the funny parts and listened closely to the rest.

  When Wynston finished his story, Lucy said, “Wynston, nobody tells a story like you. You’re the best!”

  And Wynston gave Lucy a funny look in reply. “No, Lucy. You are. You really are.” And Lucy knew he meant it.

  Since the boat was dry now, they settled Cat back in his spot beneath the bow and set off down the slow-moving bend of the river. They watched with caution, but now that they’d reached the flat ring of what Lucy had called the mountain’s moat, there was really no need for worry. They soon arrived—as if by magic—on the other side of the mountain, not far from the little round home of Willie Wimple. When Wynston saw the house peeking through a stand of trees, he paddled the boat easily to the bank.

  Lucy climbed thankfully from the boat and stretched her legs. Cat, drained by his wet adventures, slept noisily in Lucy’s bag. But with hours of walking ahead and the sun low in the sky, the adventurers realized they wouldn’t be spending the night in Thistle.

  “I suppose we’ll just have to camp,” said Lucy. “Again.” She sighed deeply and began to look around for a soft place near the road. But the rumbling in her belly and the muddy-river smell of her dress made her stamp her foot. “Drat, Wynston! I just wanted a pillow and a bowl of soup. Is that too much to ask for?”

  “Gosh, no. I was thinking that we should stay overnight at Willie’s, if he doesn’t mind,” Wynston offered. “His house is right over there, through those trees. That’s why I stopped the boat here.”

  “Good, and if he isn’t home we can sleep on his porch or something. At the very least we can wash up at his well. From the smell of you, it can only be an improvement.” Lucy was cheered by the thought, and she began to skip happily toward an old abandoned barn off in the distance.

  Wynston ran to catch up. “Um, Luce—wrong way. It’s over here.” He pointed to the little round hut.

  “Well, how was I supposed to know?” Lucy peered at the round thatched roof. “I mean, that’s an awfully funny kind of house.”

  Wynston just laughed and took her hand. The two walked quickly along the path to Willie’s, with Cat whistle-snoring in his bag. In no time at all, they were standing on the doorstep of the little round house. A stream of smoke floated above the chimney, and a thin crack of yellow light shone around the door. Wynston knocked loudly. “Willie, it’s me, Wynston! Hey, Willie, I’m back from the mountains. I made it!”

  The door swung open and Willie’s round face peered out. “Well, if it isn’t Wynston. I didn’t rightly expect to be seeing you again anytime soon.” He glanced at Lucy, who was walking up the steps. “And who’s this? A friend?”

  “Oh, that’s just Lucy.” Wynston smiled. “Willie, meet Lucy. Lucy, this is my friend Willie.” Willie and Lucy shook hands.

  “Awful late to be out galloping around in the woods,” Willie said as he rested his arms on his round belly. “Might you two like some supper and a bed? As I recall, the prince here can eat his own weight in chicken!”

  Lucy suddenly thought of something. She piped up from behind Wynston. “Um, we’d love to stay the night, but first, Mr. Willie—”

  “Yes, missy?”

  “Aren’t you originally from Torrent?”

 
“Why, indeed I am, indeedy I am. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just wondering—” Lucy held her bag closed tightly beside her. “I’m just wondering if you like animals?”

  “That’s an odd question! Who doesn’t like animals?”

  “But do you like all kinds of animals?”

  “Well, to be honest, I’m not much fond of skunks or rats. And rabbits can be something of a problem when they get into my lettuces. But sure! As a general rule, I’m fond of everyone. No reason to be otherwise, hey?”

  Lucy sighed in relief and opened her bag. “Then we’d be very grateful for some dinner and a pillow. Ever so grateful. Ever so—” Lucy held a hand to her head. Her eyes crossed for a moment, and she carefully set her bag down on the dirt floor. Cat crawled out and looked up just in time to hear Lucy mutter, “Ever—” Then Cat jumped out of the way and scurried beneath a chair as Lucy fainted.

  When she woke up, she was staring into the round, concerned face of Willie Wimple, who kept nervously pinching her cheeks and wiping her forehead with a damp cloth. “I’m fine,” she said weakly as she sat up.

  Willie reapplied the damp cloth. “Now just you relax, missy—”

  Lucy pushed Willie away. “I said I’m fine. Now please leave me be!”

  Wynston giggled from somewhere in the room. “That sounds like Lucy!”

  Lucy looked over at Wynston. “What happened?”

  Wynston shrugged. “You just fell down.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I never fall down.”

  Despite her struggling, Willie leaned over, lifted her into his thick arms, carried her across the room, and set her in a large soft chair. “You fainted, missy, that’s all. Nothing to be scared of. I expect you’re just hungry and tired.”

  “I expect I am. Very, very.”

  “Well, then, come and have some supper. I was just about to have my eight o’clock cake break, but I can warm you up a bit of roast too. Something a little more filling.” Willie busied himself in the cupboard while Wynston wrapped Cat in a quilt and Lucy tried to pull some of the snarls from her hair with her fingers.