Secret Signs (10 page)

Henry swiped at his cheeks, embarrassed by his babyish tears. “Really?”

“Really. Why, if I hurry, I bet I can hop that freight with Fred Glass and the gang. They're a good bunch. Now, come on.” He patted Henry on the back. “You go down and find your pa. You'll have lots of stories to tell about High-handed Hank and old Clickety Clack.”

Henry hiccuped. “When I get home, I'm going to draw a special secret sign on my gatepost just for you.” As he imagined what the symbol might be, Clickety Clack looked at him questioningly. “Don't worry.” Henry smiled. “You'll know it when you see it.”

Henry knew Clickety Clack wouldn't like it, but he gave his friend a big hug, then started down to the valley. When he
reached the bottom, he turned to wave, but Clickety Clack was gone. Then he saw a lone figure walking along the rail line on the trestle bridge that crossed the river.

The unmistakable sound of a freight train whistle made Henry turn. A train had rumbled around the hill next to the construction site and was charging straight for the trestle!

Clickety Clack turned to face the oncoming locomotive.

The whistle was now a shriek as the train thundered toward the old man. Henry saw that the hobo couldn't outrun the engine, and there was no escape on the narrow bridge. Clickety Clack was trapped!

Henry watched as his friend climbed onto the edge of the bridge and, with a heart-stopping leap, jumped into nothingness.

The helpless hobo plunged down to the swirling river below.

It was then that Henry remembered Clickety Clack couldn't swim.

This was not how he'd imagined today would go. Everything was supposed to work out for both of them. Henry hadn't come all this way with his friend to watch him drown.

There was only one thing Henry could do. He raced toward the river.

The deep green water looked cold and deadly. Henry's legs shook, but he made himself go on. His eyes swept the part of the river where his friend had landed.

Then he saw him. Clickety Clack was struggling desperately in the middle of the wide stream.

Henry didn't stop to think. He pulled off his shoes and dove headfirst into the murky water. He struck out with a strong sure stroke, using the current to help him reach his drowning friend.

All his swimming skills came back in a
flash. He moved swiftly, but he wasn't fast enough. The old hobo slipped under the frigid water and disappeared. Forcing his muscles to work harder, Henry reached the spot he'd last seen his friend. Taking a deep breath, he dove down, down, down.

Groping in the murky darkness, Henry felt something hit his hand. It was the hobo's old turkey. He clutched at it and pulled. Henry felt the drag of a heavy body. Reaching down, he grabbed Clickety Clack under the arms and yanked him to the surface.

Struggling to keep the old man's face out of the water, Henry pulled him to shore. He dragged the unconscious hobo out of the water, rolled him over and pounded on his back. Clickety Clack's eyes remained closed.

“Come on, you old goat!” Henry pleaded. “This is no time to quit!” He shook the still body, then slapped the hobo's cold cheeks. Henry silently prayed his friend wasn't dead.

Suddenly Clickety Clack coughed, spewing water out of his mouth as he gasped for air.

Henry sat back with a sigh of relief.

“Who you calling an old goat, boy?” Clickety Clack croaked in a raspy voice.

Henry looked down at the soggy tramp and grinned.

Workers who'd seen the rescue swarmed around them, and one man shouted for the doctor. Henry became aware of someone calling his name. He looked up to see his father pushing through the crowd.

His pa ran to him and wrapped him in a bear hug. “Oh my God, Henry, are you all right, son?”

Henry saw fear in his father's eyes. It was not something he'd ever seen before. “I'm fine,” Henry said, “and so is my friend.” He nodded at Clickety Clack, who was lying on the riverbank, coughing.

A man with a neatly trimmed beard and a worn black bag edged through the crowd and gave Clickety Clack a quick
examination. “I'm the project doctor and I think you should come with me to the infirmary. You need to rest, and I'm sure a good night's sleep and some hot food would do you a world of good.”

Henry knew Clickety Clack wanted to catch the train that Mr. Glass and the other hobos were on. “Oh, I don't think he'll need that…”

“Now, let's not be hasty, boy,” Clickety Clack interrupted. “I'm an old man and that was a long way to fall. I dang near drowned. I think a soft bed and a hot meal are just what the doctor ordered.” He winked at Henry. “There are freight trains leaving Calgary every day.”

They carefully loaded the crafty hobo onto a thick pile of sacks in the back of a wagon. He gave Henry a wide grin. “Well now, Hank, I'll be ‘round your way one of these days, looking for that special sign. We're family, after all.” As the wagon lumbered away, Clickety Clack stuck a fresh plug of chewing tobacco into his mouth and waved goodbye.

Henry nodded and waved back.

“Henry, what on earth are you doing here?” his father asked as the crowd began to disperse. He looked past his son, searching the riverbank and escarpment. “Where are your mother and sister? How did you find me?”

“Ma and Anne aren't here. That old hobo—his name is Clickety Clack—he traveled with me. We dodged railway bulls and caught a freight out of Winnipeg; got left on a prairie siding after hitting a swarm of ‘hoppers; then flat-footed it into Regina, where we jumped on another boxcar and rode the rails to Calgary. Nothing to it.” His tone was casual as he explained his extraordinary adventure, but there was pride in his voice as well. The Henry he'd been a couple of weeks ago could never have made such a journey.

But that wasn't all he needed to tell his father. Henry took a deep breath. “The truth is, I made a mistake,” he said. “Several actually.” He took the five dollars out of his pocket. “This belongs
to Mother. I stole it from her the night I ran away and I'm sorry.” His father looked at him in surprise. Henry went on to tell him about his mother's illness and how Anne had been sent to stay at the convent and how he was supposed to work on his uncle's fishing boat.

Finally finished, he looked into his father's astonished face. “I didn't want to go to work on the boat, so I came to be with you. I'm a hard worker and I know I'd be useful here. Can I stay?”

His father seemed to mull this over, and then a look of resolve came into his eyes. “No, son, you can't.”

Henry swallowed. It wasn't what he'd expected to hear.

“And neither can I. We're both going home. These projects let you work for six weeks, and then they bring in a new crew so some other fellows can earn a wage. You arrived on my last day here.” His face became grave. “Henry, I received a letter from your mother and she told me how sick she is. I won't sugarcoat it for
you, son. She's got a long uphill battle ahead of her.”

Until that moment, Henry hadn't realized how sick his mother really was, and his face must have betrayed his alarm.

“Try not to worry. Your mother's a fighter and I know she'll pull through.” A half smile crept across his father's face. “There's good news too. When your mother took Anne to stay with the nuns, they asked if I would be willing to hire on as a permanent handyman at the convent.” The rest of the smile showed up. “Your mother said yes, and I'm starting next week. The family will be together again.” He paused and the smile faltered. “Well, most of the family, anyway, and it's our job to make sure everything is ticking along when your mother does come home.”

Henry was speechless, then he shook his head as a grin curled the edges of his lips. Well, if this wasn't the world's biggest joke on him. His pa would have returned home without Henry coming all
the way out here. Now, no matter how long their mother had to stay in the hospital, he and Anne would be able to stay with their father.

“All this comes as quite a shock to me too, but I can see that things have changed.” His father laid a hand on Henry's shoulder. “You've changed, son. The Henry Dafoe I left behind would never have done any of the things I've seen and heard today. When you saved that poor man, well, that was a mighty brave thing you did, but when you confessed to taking the money, I knew something was very different. That was something a grown man would do.”

Henry saw the pride in his father's eyes and it made everything he'd been through worthwhile.

He wished old Clickety Clack could see him now.

Henry thought of how he'd jumped into the river when his friend had needed his help. Somehow, the idea of all that water didn't bother him anymore. He
knew he could handle anything. He felt a lot older and, thanks to Clickety Clack, a lot wiser.

“Let's collect my last paycheck and head home.” His father glanced down at him as they made their way to the foreman's building. “It sounds like you've had quite an adventure. You're going to have to tell me the whole story from start to finish.”

Henry settled his book bag on his shoulder. “On two conditions…”

His father raised an eyebrow at him. “And what would they be?”

“First,” he pulled the letter to Anne out of his book bag, “we mail this to Anne right away so she can get her very first letter, and second…” Henry grinned at his father, “you call me Hank.”

Henry's father looked surprised at first. Then he smiled at his son. “You've got yourself a deal, Hank.”

As they climbed back up the steep riverbank, Henry thought about his extraordinary adventures and how they rivaled anything in his favorite books. He'd
come close to losing his family and his home—not to mention one cantankerous old rod rider—but now he realized how much these things meant to him. He would never turn his back on his family and friends again.

Pirates had their gold, which was mighty tempting, but he had his family and that was worth more than ten chests full of plunder.

Who knew what awaited him? Maybe he'd end up on his uncle's fishing boat after all. Perhaps he'd learn how to steer it and sail the seven seas in a tall ship. Maybe one day he'd follow in Mark Twain's footsteps and work as a riverboat pilot on the mighty Mississippi. Henry knew, after what he'd been through, that anything was possible. A grin spread across his face and he stood a little taller as he matched his father's stride.

This was not how he'd imagined today would go, but sometimes, if you were very lucky, life handed you a surprise, and that was a wonderful thing.

Jacqueline Guest
is the author of more than a dozen books for children, including
Belle of Batoche
(Orca), which was inspired by Jacqueline's family history. When she's not traveling across Canada promoting literacy and the love of books, she's at home in Bragg Creek, Alberta, researching and writing and, of course, reading.