Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains

by Laurel Snyder

  Missing Lucy felt almost like a bad stomachache, but the ache was in his chest and throat too. He felt lonelier than he’d ever felt before. Sprout whinnied gently, but it was little consolation. Wynston knew that if Lucy was hurt, or lost, it would be the worst thing in the world. He ate an olive, but the olive almost got stuck in his throat. He tried to make up a song, like Lucy, but he was terrible at it. He didn’t get very far.

  Rain is wet, when it comes pouring

  Down on me, and that’s just boring….

  Wynston had to admit he was no good at cheering himself up, at least not with songs. He considered the princess Halcyon, but that made him feel bad. He thought about the cold stone castle filled with golden things, and that didn’t make him feel better either.

  But when he thought of Lucy picking blackberries alone on a sunny Sunday afternoon, he lay down on the ground, smiled, and closed his eyes.

  A VERY CIVILIZED PLACE

  WHEN LUCY woke up to see the woven roof of branches, she only wanted to go back to sleep. Beyond the knitted ceiling, she could hear that it was still raining, though not half so hard as the night before. Rosebud was already awake, nibbling fallen leaves. Cat was sitting up a few yards away, staring hard at Lucy and making an impatient clicking noise. So Lucy dragged herself up, combed her damp hair with her fingers, folded her blanket, and realized she was starving! She snuggled Cat down safely into the driest corner of her less-than-dry bag, covered him with the driest side of the not-quite-dry blanket, tapped Rosebud firmly on the rump, and said, “Okay, Rosebud, it’s time. Let’s go. Run, girl!”

  Lucy and Rosebud ran pell-mell down through the soft rain. The path wound around the biggest trees, but mostly it ran straight and true through the forest. Since the sun was rising sharply, stretching its fingers through the forest in bright patches all over the mountaintop, tiny rainbows appeared everywhere, glinting and shifting, then disappearing as the light changed. Lucy could barely keep running, it was so beautiful. She wanted to stop and stare, but her hunger (which got bigger every minute) kept her moving. She and Rosebud ran and ran. Then very suddenly they bolted out of the forest and into a strange village, where Rosebud made a surprised “Moo!”

  Lucy was startled too, but she kept running, making a left turn where the path forked into a spiderweb of circular sidewalks. She ran along the weaving walks until they led her to a gazebo at the place where the footpaths met. Only once she was under cover and could set Cat down did she stop to really look around her. When she did, what she saw took her breath away.

  She was standing in the very center of a big round field, in a kind of bandstand or meeting place. The field all around her was covered with winding footpaths, each with its own little trellised roof. Grapevines and honeysuckle grew over each roof, so that the entire place felt like a maze, but also like a bouquet of wildflowers. Each little path was exactly like the next, the same size and shape, and they were arranged in concentric circles. Lucy thought that perhaps, to a bird in the sky, they’d look like a rose, with the paths like petals carved into the mountaintop. She smiled at the thought.

  …they led her to a gazebo…

  Around the field full of footpaths was the village itself, a ring of adorable matched buildings. Each house was built of the same deep red stone, and the door to each house was painted the brightest shade of blue Lucy had ever seen. Beyond the village, a ring of tall, tall trees stood watch. So the gazebo was at the center of the footpaths, and the footpaths were at the center of the village, and the village was at the center of the stormy forest where Lucy had spent the night. Although it was sunny now, off in the distance hung a deep gray sky full of dark clouds.

  From where she stood at the very center of the village, Lucy could see healthy roots growing through to the ceiling above her. She guessed that the roof of her gazebo was covered with honeysuckle, like the roofs of the paths. Everywhere, the town seemed alive, green and growing, and for a while Lucy was so entranced that she forgot about her growling stomach. She noticed that there were small green moths living in the roots dangling above her. She watched a few of them flit around her, and she felt calm for the first time since she’d climbed out of the boat. But soon the moment passed, and she felt hungry again! She couldn’t help making up a little song, right there, on the spot.

  I wish I could conjure up breakfast this minute….

  Maybe pancakes with jam, or an egg

  with cheese in it!

  Maybe berries with cream, or a scone, piping hot!

  Though I’ll settle for oatmeal if that’s

  what you’ve got….

  Lucy was just about to sing about fried potatoes with onion when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Startled, she turned quickly to find herself staring into the gray eyes of a young man about her age. He tugged on one of her damp curls. “Who are you, and what’s that you’re singing? If you don’t mind telling me, of course.”

  Lucy gasped. “I’m Lucy.” She jerked her head so that her hair flew out of the boy’s hand. “And it’s nothing—just a little song I made up.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucy answered slowly. “Just because I like to sing.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I’ve never thought about it before. Maybe because my mother liked to sing. Maybe I inherited it from her.” Lucy paused to think about this, and it made her happy. “Or maybe just because I feel less lonely when I sing. Don’t you?”

  “I don’t sing. I don’t know how.”

  “Oh,” said Lucy, though she couldn’t understand how anyone could not know how to sing. She couldn’t imagine it. “Well,” she said, “okay then.”

  “Okay then,” the boy repeated.

  “Um…okay,” Lucy said again. She stared at the boy, unsure of how to proceed. It felt rude to walk away, but Lucy was getting hungrier by the second. There was a long, awkward pause, which was broken by a rumble from Lucy’s belly. “Uh…so, who are you?” she asked, hoping to distract him from the embarrassing sound.

  “My name’s Steven,” said Steven. “Are you a stranger?”

  “I suppose I am to you,” replied Lucy, “though you’re a stranger to me, too.”

  “But I belong here,” said the boy. “And you don’t.”

  “I’ve never been here before, if that’s what you mean. But I’m not sure that not having been someplace is quite the same as not belonging.”

  “It is,” said the boy simply.

  Lucy wasn’t sure how to respond. “Oh.” Her belly rumbled again, and she rubbed it.

  “So then you are a stranger!”

  “I suppose I am.”

  His face lit up. “That’s wonderful! I’ve never seen a real live stranger before.” He peered very closely, and pulled a small leaf from Lucy’s hair.

  Lucy, a little uncomfortable, backed away from the boy. “I don’t see how that’s possible,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” asked the boy.

  “Well, everyone’s a stranger the first time you meet them.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” said the boy.

  “And you have to meet everyone for the first time at least once. It only makes sense.”

  The boy looked stumped by Lucy’s logic. He scratched his head. “I suppose so,” said the boy. “Except that it doesn’t.”

  “How’s that?” asked Lucy.

  “Because I know that my mother told me never to talk to strangers, and that was when I was very little. And from that day to this day, I must never have met a stranger, because this is the first time it’s ever come up.”

  Lucy was a little tired of the conversation, and now she was positively starving. “If that’s true, you shouldn’t be talking to me.”

  The boy thought for a second. “Yes. But you’re my first stranger, and it’s just too exciting. Besides, I’m a terrible child. Everyone says so.”

  “What do you do that’s so bad?”

  “All kinds of things. I’m a general nuisance. I break al
l kinds of rules.”

  At this Lucy chirked up considerably. “Me too! What do you do?”

  “Well, sometimes I wear my socks on the wrong feet or I put my belt on upside down. Once I ate a buttercup, just to see what it would taste like.”

  Lucy thought of her own terrible mischief, and of how Thistle was likely to be reacting to her disappearance. She didn’t think that the things Steven had mentioned made him a terrible child, but she kept quiet while he kept on talking.

  “You know, you don’t look like a stranger.”

  “How’s that?” said Lucy, trying to be polite.

  “Well, just different, I guess,” said Steven. “I thought you’d look more different, but you just look like anyone, like my cousin. Only your hair is that strange color—”

  “Oh,” said Lucy. “I’m sorry, I guess.”

  “Don’t apologize. You’re pretty.”

  “Thank you, I suppose.”

  “But what are you doing here? People don’t pass through Torrent very often, because it isn’t on the way to anywhere. It’s at the very top.”

  “This place is called Torrent? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Then how’d you end up here?”

  “Gosh—I was angry, I guess,” said Lucy, “and I wanted to be somewhere besides where I was, and I wanted to see if I could climb the mountain…alone.”

  “Well, now you did!” answered Steven. “Is it all you thought it would be?”

  “Hmm…I suppose. But…I also thought that maybe I could find…someone.”

  “Well, I’m someone,” said Steven, which was true.

  “I mean a particular someone,” answered Lucy. “A person I knew long ago. She might have run away, or gotten lost, or something.”

  “Might have?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I don’t really remember her—my mother.”

  “Your mother? Your mother ran away?” The way the boy said it, it didn’t sound very likely. Lucy couldn’t, staring into his strange gray eyes, think of any other mothers who’d run away.

  “Well, I’m almost certain she did. It’s a long story, but I think she might be up here somewhere.”

  “I like stories.”

  “Though my sister thinks that my mother is…”

  “Is? What?”

  “Is just…gone.”

  “Gone?” echoed Steven, confused.

  “But I’m sure she isn’t…gone…because I think that if she were, I’d know. So I want to see if I can find her.”

  Lucy desperately wanted to change the subject. “Even if I can’t find her, I thought I might have an adventure, here on the mountain.”

  “What’s an adventure?” asked the boy.

  “What’s an adventure?” Lucy didn’t know how to explain. “An adventure is…a kind of journey.”

  “What’s a journey?”

  Lucy was a little shocked at the boy’s lack of vocabulary. “It’s a kind of a trip.”

  “What’s a trip?”

  Lucy really didn’t know how to answer, and she was starting to feel a little cranky. She put her hands on her hips. “It’s a lot like breakfast.”

  “Oh!” Steven didn’t get the joke, but he understood breakfast. “Why haven’t you eaten breakfast? Breakfast happens at seven-fifteen, and it’s almost eight-thirty now.”

  “Is it? We skipped breakfast this morning. As well as lunch and dinner yesterday.”

  Steven looked shocked. “I didn’t know you could do that, miss so many meals. Why did you?”

  Lucy snapped a little. “We ran out of food. That happens sometimes, on an adventure. But I guess you wouldn’t understand.”

  Steven looked hurt. “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get snippy. It’s just that I’m starving. I’ve been in the woods for days and days, and I’m so hungry I could eat a cow!” Too late, Lucy realized what she was saying and bit her tongue. She looked guiltily at Rosebud, but Rosebud didn’t appear to be listening. So Lucy continued, “But first I should really give Rosebud a good milking.”

  “Hey, I bet my mother would swap you breakfast for a pail of milk! I think that’s an acceptable exchange,” Steven said agreeably. “C’mon!” He began to walk through the rain to the door of one of the pretty red houses.

  Lucy couldn’t help thinking, as she followed Steven hungrily, that in Thistle, anyone would happily feed a traveler without considering acceptable exchanges. But she wasn’t in a position to be picky, and she was happy to share a bucket of milk. She walked with Rosebud’s lead in one hand and her bag held tightly in the other. Cat seemed to be sleeping peacefully in the bag, so she didn’t bother to wake him up.

  Lucy left Rosebud on the porch and followed Steven into a warm kitchen. A woman with Steven’s same gray eyes was taking a loaf of fresh bread from the oven. Steven hung his hat on a hook by the door and called out, “Hey, Mom, look what I found in the Village Round—a real live stranger!” When his mother turned and saw Lucy, she jumped, but then her face softened.

  “Oh! Who is she exactly?” she asked Steven, snuggling him warmly in her plump arms.

  Before he could answer, Lucy, with a lump in her throat, replied, “I’m exactly Lucy.” The cozy room reminded her too much of home. It smelled like soup. Something about the room and the bustling mother pushed all the words out of her in a rush. “I’m a milkmaid from Thistle, and I meant to find…someone…and have an adventure. But I’m very hungry now, and I think maybe Cat is sick, and I miss Wynston something awful, and nothing’s gone quite right.”

  Lucy felt her eyes clouding over, and she hated the feeling. She hated it!

  “Oh, ducky,” said Steven’s mom. “You look about to cry.”

  “I’m not!” answered Lucy. “I’m fine!”

  “Lucy hasn’t had a bite to eat for years and years,” explained Steven. “She might even starve!” He looked excited by the prospect of such an occurrence. “She can pay us in milk.”

  “Oh, my duckling,” said Steven’s mother. “I doubt it’s as dreadful as all that, but do have some bread and butter. I’ll put on a pot of tea and we’ll get you all washed up. Then you can do your milking. How’s that?”

  So Lucy washed her face, ate a good breakfast, and drank the warm tea until she felt much better. As she ate, Steven’s mother bustled about her in a motherish way. This made Lucy feel a little sad, so she tried to think of other things. She said with her mouth full, “I’ve never seen a river that goes up a hill before.”

  “Is that how you got to Torrent then—on the river?”

  “Yes, but it was an accident. Almost. What’s it called, that river?”

  “Why, that’s the Current Current,” answered Steven’s mother matter-of-factly. “I’ve never been on it myself, never having reason to go anywhere but to the market.”

  “But how does one go down the mountain if the river goes up so quickly? It would be awfully hard to paddle against it.”

  “Duckling, you should never paddle against the river, or against any river! The Current Current goes up the mountain on one side, and down the mountain on the other.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” said Lucy, remembering the map in King Desmond’s throne room. It wouldn’t really make sense if it went up both sides of the mountain, since the water would have no place to go.

  “Things generally do, my duckling. They generally do.” Steven’s mother turned to bustle around busily at the sink, and Lucy finished her breakfast. As she was gulping her last gulp of tea, Steven’s mother turned back around abruptly.

  “I’m wondering, dear, who exactly you’re looking for? We don’t get many strangers in Torrent. There’s really nobody out there who knows anyone here—which makes visitors rare.”

  Lucy set her cup down and took a deep breath. She was beginning to realize that this was a hard conversation, but she was also sure there was a clue waiting for her somewhere on the mountain.

  “It’s hard to explain. My mother was a goat girl long ago
. But she ran away, left the mountain, and moved to Thistle, which is where I’m from.”

  “Your mother? What was her name?”

  “Nora. She was called Nora.” Lucy’s face was bright and curious. She held her breath. She held it and held it and held it, but…

  “Well then, ducky, I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. There’s never been a Nora in Torrent as long as I’ve been here.”

  Lucy’s face fell, but her hope held. “Maybe she just came from another town?”

  “I’m afraid there is no other town on the mountain, dear….”

  “Not any?”

  “Nary a one. There’s only one town on this mountain, and the other mountains are uninhabitable, being made mostly of gravel and stone. In fact, that’s why these hills and peaks were named the Scratchy Mountains in the first place—because it’s mighty hard to scratch a garden patch from a bed of gravel and stone. All covered in pine needles and wind. Yes, it’s mighty hard to make a life in these mountains, unless you happen to be a goat. So we’re all there is, we Torrentians. Something of an oasis, our little village.

  “But I’m afraid I’m confused as to the details. Why are you looking for your mother here, if she moved to Thistle?”

  “She isn’t there anymore. She…ran away.”

  “Your mother ran away?”

  “I don’t know, not for sure. Nobody talks about her, ever. But I think she was homesick, probably, or maybe she’d done something—something wrong.”

  “And what makes you think that? I can’t imagine any mother needing to be anywhere but with her baby chickens, and I can’t imagine doing anything more wrong than running away from home.” At this Lucy swallowed hard and looked at her feet.

  Lucy thought for a minute, but try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything but the goatherd song. She felt flustered. “I don’t know. But she used to sing me a song at night before she ran away. And it was a song she’d learned on this mountain. I’m sure of it. So I wanted to see the mountain, okay? There’s something here, some part of her. I feel it.”