Secret Signs

  SECRET SIGNS

  Jacqueline Guest

  Copyright 2006 © Jacqueline Guest

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted

  in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

  recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be

  invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Guest, Jacqueline

  Secret signs / Jacqueline Guest.

  (Orca young readers)

  ISBN 1-55143-599-3

  I. Title.

  PS8563.U365S42 2006 jC813’.54 C2006-903446-X

  First published in the United States, 2006

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2006928964

  Summary: During the Depression, Henry Dafoe makes his way across the

  prairies, guided only by an old hobo and a series of secret signs.

  Free teachers’ guide available: www.orcabook.com

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing

  programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through

  the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for

  the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council

  and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover design by Doug McCaffry

  Cover & interior illustrations by June Lawrason

  Secret signs by S. N. Harvey

  In Canada:

  Orca Book Publishers

  Box 5626 Stn. B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4

  In the United States:

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 468

  Custer, WA USA

  98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  Printed on recycled paper.

  09 08 07 06 • 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For Tyler

  Joy, laughter and magic, all in one tiny person.

  Here’s a book full of trains just for you.

  The author would like to thank the Alberta Foundation

  for the Arts for its support in the writing of this book.

  Contents

  Chapter 1 A Kindhearted Woman Lives Here

  Chapter 2 Hit the Road Quick!

  Chapter 3 There Are Thieves About

  Chapter 4 Well-guarded Home

  Chapter 5 A Cranky Man Lives Here

  Chapter 6 An Officer of the Law Lives Here

  Chapter 7 Be Quiet!

  Chapter 8 Road Spoiled

  Chapter 9 Generous People

  Chapter 10 Doctor Won’t Charge for His Services

  Chapter 11 Man With a Gun Lives Here

  Chapter 12 Here You Will Find Friends

  Chapter 13 A Good Place for Sit-down Food

  Chapter 14 Don’t Give Up

  Chapter 15 A Good Road to Follow

  Key to the secret signs

  CHAPTER 1

  The air grew strangely still, and the hair on the back of Henry Dafoe’s neck stood straight up. He sucked in his breath. Marching toward him across the parched prairie was a towering black wall that blotted out the sun.

  He and his little sister, Anne, were walking home after school on the path that skirted a shallow lake, now nearly dry. The baked mud at the edge of the water was cracked and lined like the face of an old man.

  “Come on, Anne, we’ve got to run!” Henry yelled as he grabbed her wrist.

  “Stop it, Henry! You’ll crinkle the picture I made for Mama.” Anne jerked her arm out of her brother’s grasp.

  Henry hated babysitting his sister, especially when she wouldn’t listen, which was nearly all the time. He pointed at the dark curtain that stretched across the horizon. “If you don’t get a move on, you’ll be swallowed up by that dust cloud, and then what will happen to your precious picture?”

  Anne’s blue eyes grew wide with fear. She scanned the shore, then darted away, running toward an old boat stuck in the mud at the lake’s edge. “Henry, let’s take the rowboat! It’s only ten minutes across the lake.”

  “We’re not taking any stupid boat. We have to make a run for it!” He tried again to grasp his sister’s arm, but she was too fast for him.

  “It will take us a million years to get home along the path,” she argued, tears welling in her eyes. “The boat is right here! Why can’t we take it? Henry, I’m scared!”

  “Don’t be such a big baby,” Henry growled. “You think you can turn on the waterworks and get whatever you want? Well, think again. Now, come on!”

  He lunged for her arm, missed again and accidentally knocked his sister backward into the shallow slough. Her dress immediately became the same dirty gray as the stagnant water that swirled around her. The picture of the bright red flowers sank to the silty bottom and dissolved in a slurry of wet paint and mud.

  “Serves you right for not listening.” Henry glared at his soggy sister. The breeze had picked up, and he glanced at the darkening sky. “Stay if you want, but I’m leaving.” He turned to go.

  Henry wanted to run, but he knew his mother would be angry if he abandoned his sister, so he waited while Anne struggled out of the water, her wails carried away on the howling storm. Gripping his sister’s muddy hand, he dragged her to the safety of their farm.

  The wind was a black fist hammering their house. Henry doodled in his journal and tried to ignore the moaning gale. Even though the windows and doors were closed tight, fine dust drifted in and settled on the picture he’d drawn.

  The drawing was of something his pa called a hobo sign—a symbol usually written in chalk or coal on a fencepost or gate. The signs directed tramps to a meal or a place to sleep or warned them of trouble in the area. His father said that a lot of hobos couldn’t read, so the signs were a good way of communicating.

  No one had ever told Henry what the signs meant, but he was sure he’d figured out some of their meanings. He prided himself on being extremely clever and wasn’t shy about letting folks know just how smart he was, but his quick tongue often got him into a lot of trouble. Grown-ups were always telling him he was too smart for his own good. Henry studied the hobo sign he was working on. He’d seen it scribbled on the fence near Mr. Fitzwilliam’s house. It looked like a gentleman’s top hat, and since Mr. Fitzwilliam was an undertaker and wore a tall black hat, Henry assumed the symbol meant that you were in the right place if you were planning a funeral.

  “Henry, put that away, dear,” his mother admonished as she dished up the soup they were having for supper.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Henry slid the journal under his behind. He looked into his bowl and sniffed, then wrinkled his nose in distaste. Cabbage soup again! He knew money was tight and they had a lot of cabbage down in the root cellar. Waste not, want not was his mother’s motto, and they sure weren’t going to waste any money… or cabbages either.

  “Is there any bread?” he asked. Henry knew that unless Mama had baked more, the only two pieces in the house were the ones he’d hidden yesterday in the bottom of the empty pie safe.

  His mother shook her head, then smiled at him. “I’ll bake more tomorrow. Now eat your soup.”

  Henry felt bad about hiding the bread, but he needed the extra food. He was the man of the house now that his father had gone to Winnipeg to find work. He was the one who had to do the chores around the farm, especially since his mother had gotten sick.

  Of course, chores weren’t like they used to be. It was 1932, and he was only twelve, but even he remembered a time when the crops weren’t being burnt up every ye
ar in the never-ending drought. Back then, he and Pa had worked together to bring in the harvest. He’d helped run the big belt-driven threshing machine, but since they hadn’t planted this year, there wouldn’t be any crop to harvest. His father had said the whole country was in something called the Depression. Henry didn’t know exactly what the Depression had to do with them, but he did know that they didn’t have nearly as many nice things as they used to.

  “Mama, guess who I saw today?” Henry ignored the wind clawing at the windows. “The Thompsons—and you should see what they’ve done to our car.”

  “That car isn’t ours anymore,” his mother reminded him.

  Their shiny black car had been sold to the neighbors, but the Thompsons had fallen on tough times. “They’ve cut the roof off,” he continued, “and rigged that car up so their team of horses can pull it down the road without the engine running. Can you believe it?”

  His mother looked thoughtful. “I heard they’d turned it into a Bennett Buggy. That’s too bad, but gasoline is expensive. You have to feed horses whether you use them or not. They may as well earn their keep.”

  With the car gone and only their unreliable pickup left to drive, they were stuck on the farm, another thing Henry hated. Mama said they had no money for frivolous things like candy or store-bought clothes, so going into town was pointless.

  “It seems strange to name that crazy contraption after the prime minister.” Henry gave his sister a superior smile as he pushed his thick brown hair out of his eyes. He enjoyed showing off his abundant knowledge.

  “I know the prime minister’s name, so there, Mr. Know-it-all Henry Dafoe.” Anne stuck her tongue out at him. There was a stringy piece of cabbage stuck to it.

  “That’s a surprise, since you’re such a baby!” Henry sneered.

  “Am not,” said Anne, her lower lip trembling.

  “Stop your bickering, both of you! Anne, finish your soup.” His mother pushed her bowl away and sighed wearily. “Henry, I expect better of you. Honestly, some days I’m at my wits’ end with you two.”

  Henry glanced at his mother. She hadn’t touched her soup, and her face had an alarming gray tinge that reminded him of his grandma’s skin right before she died. His mama had been coughing a lot lately, and she was always tired. Henry wondered how sick she really was and when she was going to get better.

  This was not how he’d imagined today would go. Henry had hoped his mother would stop treating him like a child now that Pa was gone and he was doing all the chores, but that wasn’t happening. In fact, Henry thought he should get a reward for all his extra work, but that wasn’t happening either. It just wasn’t fair.

  CHAPTER 2

  The next morning dawned bright and sunny with not a cloud in the sky. Henry pulled on his clothes and did his morning chores. When he came into the kitchen carrying the egg basket, his mother had breakfast waiting. He washed his hands and sat down at the table.

  “Just in time, dear. Hot porridge—with a little brown sugar I found to sprinkle on top.” His mother set a steaming bowl in front of him.

  It wasn’t porridge weather, but that didn’t stop Henry from gobbling down first one bowl and then another.

  His mother waited while they ate, then looked at him and Anne. “I have some news,” she began. “Yesterday the doctor stopped by to tell me the results of those fancy tests he did.”

  Henry leaned his elbow on the table and listened, just as his papa would have done if he were here. After all, as the man of the house he should know just how sick his mother was.

  Anne shot Henry an angry glance. “I painted a picture to make you feel better, Mama, but it got wrecked when Henry pushed me in the lake yesterday.”

  “It was your own fault,” he snapped back.

  “Now, children,” his mother interrupted tiredly. “Anne, I’m sure Henry did what he thought best. He’s the oldest and you should mind him.”

  Henry grinned at his sister.

  His mother continued, “The doctor says I have to go into a special hospital for folks with bad lungs. The hospital’s a long way from here.”

  “How far away, Mama?” Anne asked, her voice small and anxious.

  Their mother’s brow furrowed. “It takes us an hour to drive to Winnipeg, and the hospital is another two hours farther south. I’ll be there for a long time—many months.”

  Henry and Anne stared at her.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” Henry burst out, then glanced guiltily at his little sister. “I mean, who’s going to take care of us?”

  His mother sighed. “I’ve worked it all out. Anne, I’ve made arrangements for you to stay with the Sisters of Mercy in Winnipeg.”

  Anne clapped her hands. “I loved going to the convent school last year. Mother Superior always gave the farm girls an extra slice of orange at lunch. Going to the little school at the crossroads this year hasn’t been nearly as much fun.” She grinned smugly at Henry and then slurped her porridge noisily.

  “We’ll do whatever it takes to help out, won’t we, Anne?” Henry thought he sounded very grown up. With Anne gone, his life would be so much better. His mother turned to him. “I’m glad you see it that way, Henry, because tomorrow you’ll leave to stay with your Uncle Paul in Nova Scotia. He says he can use a strong boy like you on his fishing boat this summer. I’ll send money for your upkeep. Think of the wonderful experience you’ll have being a fisherman.”

  Henry was shocked. His mother was smiling as though she truly believed her solution was a good one. She was going to send him away to work on a horrible, smelly, scary fishing boat! The idea of being on the water every day made his stomach lurch; the porridge rose ominously in his throat.

  It had all started last spring when he’d lied to his teacher and said he had to go to his aunt’s funeral. He and Jimmy Hutchins had gone to the creek, and he’d been showing off, diving in head first, forgetting the water level was very low. He’d hit his head on a rock and nearly drowned. If Jimmy hadn’t dragged him to shore, he’d have been a goner for sure. Ever since that terrifying day, he couldn’t even think of going swimming without feeling sick. The thought of spending every waking minute on a boat was horrifying.

  Henry swallowed, his throat tight. If he hadn’t been playing hooky, he could have told his parents what had happened, and they’d have given him the special treatment a near-drowning victim deserves.

  One thing was certain. He could not work on his uncle’s or any other boat! “I can’t go to Nova Scotia, Mama. It’s too far away. I’d miss you and Anne so much, why, I’d be heartsick. I might die!” His voice cracked and he looked at his mother, silently praying she’d let him stay.

  Henry’s mother patted his hand. “I know you don’t want to leave, dear, but there’s no other way. It’s all arranged. Tomorrow we’ll drive Anne to the convent and then I’ll drop you at the bus station.”

  “We’ll both do whatever it takes to help out, won’t we, Henry?” Anne grinned at him and Henry kicked her under the table.

  He thought of the boat and the deep cold sea. Spidery legs of terror crawled up his spine, and his blood chilled. “No! You can’t send me away! I won’t go! Do you hear me, Mother? I won’t go!” He was yelling, and his mother stared at him, wide-eyed with astonishment.

  “It’s not open for discussion,” she said, “and I’ll thank you to remember your manners, young man. As long as you’re in my house, you will show me the respect I deserve. Is that understood?”

  Henry felt his face go red. He was so angry he could have spit. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered contritely, but he was already plotting his escape.

  That night Henry waited until everyone was asleep, then crept out of bed and inched down the stairs, avoiding the one that creaked. His book bag was slung over his shoulder, but he’d left his tedious schoolwork in his room. He needed the bag for more important cargo.

  “What are you doing?”

  Anne’s voice in the darkness made Henry jump. She was sitting
on the top stair watching him. “Shh, you’ll wake Mama!” he whispered.

  “Why are you dressed in the middle of the night?” Anne looked very small in her long nightgown, her tousled hair like a blond halo gone askew.

  With a sigh, Henry went to sit beside his little sister. “Anne, Mama’s real sick so we have to help her. The nuns will take good care of you, but Mama can’t afford to send money to Uncle Paul. It’s better if I find work near here, like Papa did, and that means I have to leave for a while. But it has to be our secret.”

  Anne looked at him with enormous eyes. “Where are you going?” she asked. “And when will you come back?” She sniffled, and Henry knew she was about to cry. He put his arm around her thin shoulders.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t be gone forever. Tell you what. When I’m away I’ll write and tell you all about my adventures. Would that make you feel better?”

  Anne looked up at him and beamed. “Honest? Real letters!” Her smile faded. “But I can’t read very well.”

  As tears welled again in his sister’s eyes, Henry remembered the hobos’ secret signs. Reaching into his book bag, he took out his journal. “Here,” he said as he tore a page out of the book. “These are hobo signs. I’ll use them to tell you about my adventures. I just need to make a set for myself.” After Henry had copied all the signs into his journal, he explained their meanings to Anne. He pointed to one that looked like a cat. “If I draw a picture of a kitty, you’ll know I ran into a pack of ferocious wildcats and I had to fight my way out.”

  Anne held the page reverently. “It will be our secret code! This will be so much fun.” Then her face grew solemn again. “But what about Mama? She’ll be so worried.”

  Henry felt a quick stab of guilt. He began writing on a fresh sheet of paper. “Give this to Mama tomorrow after breakfast— not a minute sooner. It explains where I’ve gone so she won’t worry.” He ripped the note out of the journal and handed it to his sister. “Now, back to bed with you.”

  Anne hugged her brother goodbye. “I can hardly wait for my first letter,” she whispered before she scampered down the hall to her room. Henry sighed with relief when she closed her door. That had been close. He put his journal back in the bag and continued downstairs.