Secret Signs (2 page)

“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.

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.

Quietly, he gathered the things he'd need. He collected the bread slices from the pie safe, added cheese and meat, then wrapped everything in a piece of waxed paper. He stuffed the food into the bag with his journal, a change of clothes and his favorite story,
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
by Mr. Mark Twain.

Next he went to the shelf in the living room and retrieved the special book he wasn't supposed to touch. Inside was a hollowed-out compartment where his mother kept money. Henry took ten one-dollar bills from the small stack, hesitated
and put five back. His mother would need money, even if she were in a hospital. He jammed the bills into his jacket pocket before carefully replacing the volume.

Rummaging in the desk, Henry found a letter from his father with a Winnipeg return address. He stuffed it into his book bag. There was only one other thing he needed.

Going to the mantle over the stone fire-place, Henry took down the photograph of his father. Removing the picture from its small silver frame, he gently touched his father's black and white face, brushed away a speck of dirt and tucked the picture into his jacket along with the money.

He hadn't wanted his pa to leave and had begged to go with him, but his pa said Henry was too young. Maybe now, when Henry showed up ready to work like any able-bodied man, his father would change his mind.

He smiled and patted his book bag. He was through with his mother's rules and the endless babysitting, and he'd never
have to worry about drowning in Nova Scotia.

This was not how he'd imagined today would go, but he wouldn't let anyone, not even his mother, tell him what to do. Like his hero, Tom Sawyer, Henry would seek his fame and fortune in the wide world. Maybe he couldn't hitch a ride on a Mississippi riverboat, but he could take a page out of Tom's book and live by his wits and by his own rules.

Winnipeg had seemed much closer when they'd taken the family car. Henry kicked a stone as he trudged along, listening to the insects humming around him in the warm June night. But now there was no stupid car, and he was walking down the stupid road in the middle of the stupid night!