Charlie and Frog

by Karen Kane

  “Would you like to know why Francine is called Frog?” Mr. Castle asked Charlie. Charlie nodded. He would like to know. Mr. Castle patted the statue.

  “The Alice and Francine statue holds the answer. Over two hundred years ago, the first Francine Castle was born deaf. Her parents, who were hearing, didn’t know how to educate her much less talk with her. Then they visited a school for Deaf children, and met a Deaf girl named Alice.”

  As Charlie polished and listened, he spotted Millie at the top of the staircase. She held a brown paper bag filled with something. Millie continued with Bear down the hall, away from the Castle family apartment.

  “When Francine and her parents arrived at the Deaf school,” Mr. Castle continued, “they found Alice sitting outside, scrutinizing a large frog. Little Francine ran over to look. The frog leaped. Alice signed ‘frog,’ and pointed to it. Francine pointed to the frog and repeated the sign. She then began hopping around like a frog herself. Francine’s parents were amazed! Francine had understood immediately what that sign meant. Today, Charlie, this is how we sign ‘frog’ in American Sign Language, or ASL.”

  Mr. Castle placed a fist, palm down, under his chin. He flicked his index and middle finger out in a V shape twice. “Frog.” Charlie copied the sign.

  “When our Francine heard the story of her namesake, she loved it so much she insisted she was to be called Frog. She must have been about three years old. Or was she four?”

  A hand with a jewel-studded bracelet on its wrist tapped Mr. Castle on the shoulder. Mr. Castle signed to Frog.

  “Three,” Frog answered.

  “I was just telling Charlie the story of your name,” Mr. Castle signed and spoke. “Yes, I know you want to start your tour. Yes, I realize you must hurry before your mother has you doing chores. I’m almost finished. Now, where was I?”

  Charlie fingerspelled ALICE.

  “Ah, yes. Alice. Alice stayed for several weeks, teaching sign language to Francine. It was then that Francine’s father decided his home, this castle, would become a school for Deaf children. Rooms were made into classrooms. Dorms were built for students to sleep in.”

  “You mean it was a boarding school?” Charlie fingerspelled BOARDING SCHOOL in case Mr. Castle didn’t understand him.

  “Indeed it was and still is,” Mr. Castle replied. “Children go home on the weekends if their parents live close by. But many students return to their families only for the holidays and spring and summer break. The school, you see, becomes their home.”

  Charlie thought about finding a new home at the faraway boarding school where his parents were planning to send him. He thought about wanting his parents to be as interested in him as they were in northern hairy-nosed wombats.

  Frog tugged on Charlie’s arm.

  “But we didn’t finish.” Charlie gestured to the statue with his rag.

  “Nothing is ever really finished, is it, Charlie?” Mr. Castle said. “You have a tour to take and I have some reading to do. Let’s both hurry before my wife catches us.”

  A peacock wandered the castle grounds. He squawked and spread his tail feathers at the sight of Charlie and Frog. Charlie watched him shimmy and shake around the yard.

  Frog started to pull out her notebook, but Charlie was faster. The pages of his new notebook fluttered in the wind. Charlie held them down as he wrote with his new pen: Now you don’t have to use up all your paper and ink, he explained.

  Frog took Charlie’s pen. Underneath his sentence she drew a smiley face. With an exclamation point.

  Then Frog wrote: We know Aggie came to the castle. But WHY?

  To get away from Dex and Ray? Charlie suggested.

  To look for the secret? Frog wondered.

  Or both? Charlie wrote.

  Thick black clouds hung overhead. The wind carried the scent of fresh-cut grass and the salty smell of the Hudson River. Frog’s hair blew in her face. She pushed it away with an impatient hand.

  If the secret is a book, Frog wrote, then Aggie might have tried the school library. We can investigate there after dinner. Maybe something’s hidden inside a book! Or maybe there’s a cipher in a book. Both a secret treasure and a hidden code were in Dorrie McCann’s first mystery!

  Maybe, Charlie wrote.

  Maybe is all we have, Frog replied.

  Thunder echoed in the distance.

  We shouldn’t be outside in a thunderstorm, Charlie wrote. My grandparents’ TV antenna got struck by lightning during the last one.

  Frog waved this information away and kept writing. Aggie signed “dead” to you. I think that’s a clue about where we need to go next.

  Frog paused, pen in the air. Her jeweled bracelet slid down her arm. When she was certain she had Charlie’s attention she wrote: The graveyard.

  Frog curved both her hands, palms facing down, and then she arced her hands back toward her body. “Graveyard.”

  Charlie couldn’t help signing it even though he didn’t want to.

  • • •

  Several large stone buildings ringed the castle. DORMS, Frog spelled. The wooden doors were locked for the summer. They tugged on the handle of each door—just in case.

  Charlie and Frog circled behind the castle and came to a stone barn. A horse and a cow munched hay while three chickens wandered, clucking at one another. A man was mucking out a stall.

  That’s Obie, Frog wrote. He’s the castle caretaker. He NEVER goes into the graveyard.

  Before Charlie could ask why, Frog went to the stall Obie was cleaning. She banged on it. Obie lifted his head and spun around. His eyes were milky blue.

  Obie was Deaf and blind.

  Frog touched his arm. Obie put out his hands. Frog put her hands under his and signed. How did Obie do that? Understand Frog just with his hands and not his eyes?

  Frog motioned for Charlie to come over. She gestured for Charlie to fingerspell his name.

  Obie put his hand on top of Charlie’s hand, his fingers feeling the letters Charlie formed. Obie had wild, white hair with eyebrows just as wild and white. CHARLIE, Obie spelled back Charlie’s name.

  Charlie nodded, then remembered Obie couldn’t see him. Charlie signed “yes,” nodding his fist up and down. Obie pointed to Frog, who was standing next to him with her hand on his shoulder. Obie fingerspelled BEHAVE? His bushy eyebrows lifted upward.

  Was Frog behaving?

  Frog made a face. Charlie signed “yes,” even though he was probably telling a lie.

  Satisfied, Obie went back to cleaning the stalls.

  Charlie pulled out his notebook. Why doesn’t Obie go into the graveyard?

  He says it’s haunted.

  Haunted?

  Silly, right?

  A chill swept up Charlie’s spine.

  Three goats grazed outside the barn. The largest one bleated as more thunder rumbled. Charlie and Frog continued toward the graveyard. A stone wall ran behind the goats and the barn. Charlie’s fingers traced the rough stones as he and Frog walked beside it. Frog stopped at an old wooden door set in the wall.

  She turned the handle. The door opened with a loud creeeeeaaak.

  Charlie peered over her shoulder as he stepped through the doorway behind her.

  Moss-covered headstones tilted at awkward angles under trees. A small stone church sat on the right. Under the darkening sky the graveyard was eerie. And definitely, Charlie decided, haunted.

  If Obie won’t go in, Charlie wrote, maybe we shouldn’t go in, either.

  Frog snorted and moved deeper into the graveyard.

  Charlie sighed and followed. He tried stepping lightly on the ground. The trees in the graveyard rustled and swayed. The thunder grew louder and closer. Charlie scanned the sky. They shouldn’t be under trees. He distracted himself by reading the inscriptions on the headstones.

  HERE LIES THE BODY OF

  OTIS T. JENKINS

  1845–1896

  I TOLD YOU I WAS SICK!

  HERE LIES THE BODY OF

  BER
NADETTE MILLS

  1835–1899

  I TOLD YOU, TOO! BUT YOU WOULD NOT LISTEN!

  HERE LIES THE BODY OF

  EDWARD HYDE

  1816–1909

  NO ONE EVER LISTENS (SIGH),

  UNTIL IT IS TOO LATE.

  And then there was this one:

  HERE LIES THE BODY OF

  HORACE T. BELLOWS

  1875–1949

  HE COULDN’T HEAR,

  BUT HE LISTENED WITH HIS HEART.

  He couldn’t hear, but he listened with his heart.

  Frog listened with her eyes.

  Obie listened with his hands.

  And anyone, if they really wanted to, could listen with their heart.

  But how could you make people listen when they are too far away to hear you?

  First, they had to want to listen.

  Frog tapped Charlie on the shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?” she signed.

  What’s wrong was that Charlie wanted to stay in Castle-on-the-Hudson.

  He wanted to keep learning sign language.

  He wanted to be friends with Frog.

  Charlie and Frog sat down next to Horace T. Bellows. Charlie told Frog about his parents and how they loved helping—animals, that is. How they were in South Africa helping giant golden moles, but would soon be back to take Charlie to a faraway boarding school. So they could help animals without also having to help Charlie.

  Charlie sighed. My parents care a lot about animals. Just not about me.

  They have to care! Frog wrote. That’s what it means to be a family—you have to care!

  Charlie shrugged.

  You should tell them, Frog wrote.

  I try to talk to them. They don’t hear me.

  Lots of people don’t hear me. So I MAKE them listen.

  How?

  I communicate in any way possible. And I don’t stop until I get what I want!

  Charlie thought about that. Then he wrote: Your dad said students call Castle School for the Deaf their home. So maybe the boarding school will one day feel like home. Maybe I will like it—I should have asked the Magic Black Ball if I was going to like it.

  You went to see Desdemona?!

  Charlie nodded. I thought she could help us find Aggie. But she didn’t have any vital information.

  The vital information is inside us! Desdemona just helps bring it out.

  With a Magic Black Ball? Charlie asked.

  The ball is just something to help. It’s the person who has the power.

  Another rumble overhead. Charlie plucked a piece of grass and pulled his knees up to his chin. A crow cawed. Another crow answered.

  Frog tapped his shoulder. She showed him her notebook.

  Come on. I’m going to show you my favorite grave here. It’s in the back.

  Frog stood. She stuck out her hand and pulled Charlie to his feet. Charlie followed Frog on the winding path to the grave of D. J. McKinnon, author of the Dorrie McCann books.

  The wind gusted. A small white paper fluttered by. Frog grabbed it.

  It was a gum wrapper. A sugar-free cinnamon gum wrapper.

  Dex and Ray.

  Charlie and Frog looked around. Dex and Ray were here. Or—Charlie and Frog moved closer together—Dex and Ray are here.

  Thunder boomed.

  Charlie made a we-have-to-go gesture.

  A fork of lightning lit up the sky.

  Charlie made a we-have-to-go-RIGHT-NOW gesture.

  Thunder crashed. Rain poured down. Charlie and Frog raced back to the castle.

  Mrs. Castle piled lentils and peas onto Charlie’s plate. He stared at the brown-green mush and remembered Yvette’s meat loaf. He took a cautious bite, hoping for the best.

  It was not the best.

  Everyone else seemed to like the mush. They sat at the large round table, eating and signing while Charlie poked at his dinner. Occasionally Oliver would interpret, but mostly Charlie had no idea what was going on. Instead, he thought about all of his unanswered questions.

  Dex and Ray had come to the castle. First and most important question—were they still here? Second question—why had Dex and Ray come? To look for Aggie? To look for the same thing Aggie was looking for? Or both? Charlie swirled the mush into brown-green circles and brought his attention back to the conversation.

  Mrs. Castle was signing. Her eyebrows, eyes, mouth, shoulders, arms, hands—all were part of what she was saying. Frog had the same expressions as her mother. Mr. Castle wasn’t nearly as interesting to watch. His signs were much smaller than Mrs. Castle’s and Frog’s, and his face did not move as much. It was hard to watch Oliver sign as Charlie was sitting right next to him. Millie was busy feeding Bear under the table.

  Smart Millie.

  Mrs. Castle banged the table to get Millie’s attention. Charlie didn’t need an interpreter to tell him Mrs. Castle was saying, “Millie! Stop feeding Bear your dinner.”

  Mrs. Castle signed something else.

  “Mom’s telling Millie she’s ruining her appetite with all those peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches she’s been making,” Oliver told Charlie.

  “I am not ruining my appetite, Oliver!” Millie yelled.

  “Don’t blame the messenger, Millie,” Oliver said. “I’m just telling Charlie what Mom said.”

  Mrs. Castle looked pointedly at Charlie’s plate. She signed to him. It was clear what she was saying. Charlie ate another tiny bite of brown-green mush.

  Mrs. Castle snorted.

  Charlie took a much bigger bite.

  Satisfied, Mrs. Castle began talking again.

  “So, Charlie, I know Frog has been teaching you signs,” Mrs. Castle said as Oliver interpreted. “But I hope Frog has explained that signs are only part of ASL—”

  “Mom!”

  Mrs. Castle ignored Frog. “Because how you move your face and how you move your body are also part of our language—”

  “Mom! Charlie doesn’t care—”

  “—using signs while speaking English is a way to communicate; but it’s not ASL, which Frog should be teaching you—”

  “Mom! I am!” Frog kicked Charlie under the table. Charlie nodded vigorously.

  “Good,” Mrs. Castle said. “That’s important. So, Charlie, why did your family move to Castle-on-the-Hudson?”

  “It’s just me,” Charlie said. “Not my parents.”

  Mrs. Castle gave Charlie a sharp look. “Why?” she asked. “Where are your parents?”

  “My parents are busy helping,” Charlie explained. “Right now they’re helping in South Africa.”

  “Helping who?”

  “Giant golden moles,” Charlie answered.

  “Moles need help?”

  “Giant golden moles do,” Charlie said. “I guess.”

  “For how long?”

  “Three weeks,” Charlie said. “Well, now it’s down to sixteen more days.” Mrs. Castle’s brow furrowed, so Charlie quickly added, “But I’m staying with my grandparents.”

  Mrs. Castle nodded approvingly. “Good,” she said again. “Our own grandpa Sol will be back tonight. I’ll be relieved when he’s home. He still has to write his speech for the Founders’ Day Dinner! And I still have my to-do list, which is growing longer by the minute.” Mrs. Castle whipped out her long sheet of paper. “I expect everyone to pitch in. I want this school cleaned from top to bottom. Frog, I want you and Charlie to clean the glass on the classroom doors after dinner. You don’t mind helping, do you, Charlie?”

  Charlie gave Mrs. Castle a thumbs-up with one hand and drank water with the other. A brown-green blob was stuck in his throat.

  Mrs. Castle shined a smile on Charlie and then turned it off to glare at Frog. “I’m sure Charlie never makes rude faces when his mother asks him for help,” she said. Oliver seemed to enjoy interpreting that.

  • • •

  Charlie and Frog sat at the top of the stone staircase. Rain lashed at the windowpanes. The castle felt dark and vast and empty
. Or was it? Right now it seemed like a perfect place for criminals.

  We need to be careful, Charlie wrote. Dex and Ray could still be here.

  Good! We can catch them!

  Bad! We’re just kids!

  We’ll be careful. Promise! We need to investigate the school library.

  We need to clean the glass on the classroom doors.

  “That,” Frog signed. That’s what I mean.

  Charlie wondered.

  Maybe, Frog wrote, there’s a criminology section in our library—the same section Aggie went to in the village library.

  Isn’t your library for kids?

  Kids are interested in criminology!

  Frog told Charlie the school library was locked during the summer because Mean Librarian, or ML as Frog liked to call her, didn’t want anyone in the library when she wasn’t there. Only ML and the superintendent had a key—which meant Frog’s mother had a key, since Grandpa Sol wasn’t home yet. And Frog’s mother believed in following ML’s rules since ML was, after all, the librarian.

  So how do we get in without a key? Charlie asked.

  You’ll see, Frog answered.

  Frog led Charlie down the hall away from the Castle family apartment. She continued up another set of stairs. At the next landing she went down another corridor and up a narrow flight of steps. At the top was a short hallway that ended with an arched door. Frog went over to a painting of the Hudson River. One of the tugboats had a small handle. Frog moved it to the right. A panel slid open, revealing a secret space.

  A perfect place to hide a key.

  Except the hiding space was empty.

  Frog turned to Charlie, puzzled. She looked on the floor. No key.

  “What are you doing?” said a voice. Charlie jumped and knocked into Frog, who knocked into the painting.

  It was Millie. And Bear.

  “You scared me, Millie!” Charlie said.

  Frog signed furiously to Millie, who signed back and then stomped away.

  I told her I was giving you a tour and to leave us alone! Oliver must have the key.

  What about Millie?

  Millie can’t keep a secret. Only Oliver, James, and I know about the key.

  Who’s James?

  My older brother. He’s backpacking around the world. Now we have to wait to investigate the library. Frog sighed. I suppose we have to clean now.