chapter 1
A Cry for Help
KIT KITTREDGE HURRIED along the sidewalk, feet crunching crisp autumn leaves. It was early October, and the trees were a blaze of color. Smoke curled from the chimneys of some of the grand houses in Uncle Hendrick’s neighborhood. Her own house, Kit knew, would have a cheerful fire as her mother prepared the evening meal for the boarders who lived there, but Uncle Hendrick’s house was never cheerful.
Kit sighed, hitching her schoolbag onto her shoulder. Last month, when Uncle Hendrick had complained that his arthritis was worse and he needed someone to look after him, he had asked for Kit. Mrs. Kittredge pointed out that there were plenty of women desperate for work these days. She suggested he hire one to help out until he felt better. But Uncle Hendrick had hired Kit to help out before, and he said she got the job done. Kit was happy to have the job, even though her great-uncle was often grumpy and his elegant house always felt cold.
So now, Kit walked to Uncle Hendrick’s house after school several days a week and came home two hours later with the coins he paid her for her work. She was pleased to hand the money over to Mother. Times were hard, and money was scarce. Kit’s family had nearly become homeless when her father lost his job. Their decision to turn their home into a boarding house had kept them going. For the past two years there had been lodgers to feed, rooms to clean, and extra laundry to do, but the whole family pulled together. Kit’s father worked part-time at the airport now. The rest of the time he helped with the boarding house. Kit’s older brother, Charlie, sent money home from Montana, where he worked for the National Park Service.
Wealthy Uncle Hendrick, who had never approved of Kit’s family’s taking in boarders, didn’t understand about being poor. The gracious old homes in his neighborhood were large and elegant. There were hardly any signs of the Depression on Uncle Hendrick’s street at all, Kit thought. Except for the house next door to his.
Kit stopped at that house as she always did and peered through the wrought-iron gate. When the afternoon sun hit the colorful panes of glass in the center window, the glass glinted like a large eye, winking. But aside from the pretty window, the house did not look inviting at all. The tall boxwood hedge around the property was overgrown. The lawn was full of weeds. The vegetable patch was tangled. The brick house seemed like a once-grand lady whose gown had faded. This house looked as if it understood about the Great Depression, Kit thought.
She started walking again, then stopped short. What was that sound? There—it came again. A mewing cry. Could a kitten be lost in the tangles of the overgrown garden?
Over a year ago, Kit had taken in a stray dog—a large basset hound that she named Grace. Grace had been homeless and sad, but she soon became a loved and pampered pet. If Kit found a homeless kitten now, would Mother let her keep it?
Kit moved back to the gate. “Here, kitty, kitty!” she called. The quavering cry came again, louder now, and this time it sounded less like a cat and more like a human.
“Hello?” called Kit.
A weak voice answered, “Help! Over here!”
Kit fumbled to lift the latch. She pushed hard to swing the gate open. The voice called again, sounding even weaker. She followed the voice across the grass to the hedge, and then gasped at what she saw.
An elderly woman lay sprawled on the grass, one leg twisted beneath her. “Oh dear!” exclaimed Kit, kneeling to help the woman sit up. The woman’s white hair straggled out of its bun, and her watery blue eyes blinked at Kit.
She reached out a hand and groped in the grass. Kit found her spectacles lying just inches away. The woman smiled gratefully and set the spectacles on her nose.
“Thank you,” the woman said. “It’s my ankle. I’ve turned it. If you hadn’t heard me calling, I’d probably have lain here all night until the postman came tomorrow.” Then she murmured something under her breath, something Kit could barely hear: “Or until one of the travelers found me…”
“Travelers?” asked Kit. “Do you mean hobos?” Homeless people sometimes went through nice neighborhoods asking for work. One of them might have assisted this old woman if Kit had not heard her.
The woman shook her head and smiled faintly. “No, not hobos. But never mind. You’ve found me, and I’m safe now. So tell me who you are, and how you happened to be passing by just when I needed rescuing!”
“I’m Kit Kittredge. And I’m on my way to my uncle’s house next door. He’s my great-uncle, actually. My mother’s uncle.”
The woman peered at Kit. “Oh! Then you’re the one I’ve seen sweeping his front steps and hanging out his laundry. A hardworking girl.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “I’ll wager the old codger’s paying you less than half of what you’re worth. He’s a skinflint! Always has been!” Then she smiled at Kit again and held out one thin hand. “Very pleased to meet you, dear girl. I’m Miss Elsie Mundis of Rivermead Manor.”
Kit shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you. Now, shall I help you into the house?”
“I’d be much obliged.”
Leaning heavily on Kit, Miss Mundis was able to get to her feet. She took Kit’s arm and limped to the house.
Kit helped Miss Mundis through the front door and looked around eagerly. Inside, a chandelier hung from the hallway ceiling. There was a faded Oriental rug on the floor, and a curving staircase leading upstairs. Miss Mundis limped down the hallway into a sunny kitchen.
A china cup and saucer and a teapot sat on the round kitchen table. A shabby armchair by the windows held a fat white cat. Kit glanced at the magazine on the table: Amazing Stories. The curtains at the windows were faded, and the kitchen floor was in need of a good washing, but the room had a homey air. Kit thought that Miss Mundis probably spent a lot of her time here.
Miss Mundis sank into the armchair with a sigh of relief. She settled her cat on her lap.
“Where were you when I needed help?” she asked the cat. “Snoozing in the sun!” She smiled at Kit. “Stanley’s a lovely companion, but not very useful in an emergency.”
Kit laughed and reached out a hand to stroke Stanley’s soft fur. “I have a dog named Grace.”
“How nice,” said Miss Mundis. Her voice was cheerful, but Kit noticed that Miss Mundis winced as she shifted in her chair.
Kit saw a telephone on the wall by the icebox. “Do you want me to call your doctor?”
“There’s no need. I’m sure I shall be fine. But I’m wondering if you could manage a second job. Perhaps you could work for me on the same days you come to your uncle’s house.”
“I’d love to,” said Kit eagerly. “I’d have to ask my parents, of course, but as long as I get home for dinner, I’m sure they won’t mind.”
“I’ll pay you, of course,” Miss Mundis added. “Probably more than your skinflint uncle does! I need help with the sweeping and dusting, and perhaps you can make something simple for my supper. It’s hard for me to keep up with things as I get older.”
“So you live here alone?” asked Kit. “With Stanley, of course.”
Miss Mundis darted quick glances around the kitchen as if someone might be waiting in the shadowy corners. “I’m not alone anymore,” she whispered, and her eyes sparkled as if she were in possession of a special secret.
Curious, Kit was about to ask Miss Mundis what she meant when she abruptly changed the subject, asking if Kit could start work that very week.
“I’m sure my parents will say I can,” Kit said. “But why not let me help today,