Secret Signs

by Shelley Hrdlitschka

  “That was a near miss back there,” Fred said, offering Henry a slice of bread and some cheese. “I once saw a fellow trying to hop a freight and timing it wrong. Well…” He looked down at the floor. “Let’s just say he didn’t make it.”

  Henry thought of those terrible hungry wheels and shuddered. The other men began to tell stories about riding the rails.

  “My name’s Whistlestop and I remember being stuffed under a car, hanging on to those blasted rods, during a winter run to Saskatoon. I darn near froze to death. Lost all the toes off one foot, and my eyelids froze to my cheeks. I had to wait till the train hit the station and the railway bulls pulled me off. They poured warm coffee on my face to thaw me out.”

  Even thinking about this made Henry shiver. The others joined in with similar harrowing stories.

  “Once I was panhandling in a little place near Ottawa, and the police ran me out of town. They busted me up so bad, I still can’t hear right in this ear.” The toothless old man tapped the left side of his head.

  Henry listened in openmouthed astonishment. This was a side of being on the road he hadn’t thought about before.

  The conversation shifted to work and companies they’d heard were hiring, then to how the government needed to create more jobs. Finally, as the miles churned by, the talk turned to home.

  “I left my family on the East Coast, been trying to find work all across Canada. There are no jobs for the likes of us,” said a shabby fellow who was missing two fingers on his left hand.

  “My name’s John and I ain’t never ridden the freights before.” John had skin like old leather. “Last year the hoppers got my crop, and before that, rust killed the wheat. This spring I used the last of our savings to buy seed, but the crop was burnt to a crisp by May.”

  A boy not much older than Henry spoke next. “I have seven younger brothers and sisters and figured my folks didn’t need another mouth to feed. I’m nearly sixteen and man enough to take care of myself.” The boy’s voice was defiant, but Henry saw his lips quiver.

  Looking at the gaunt faces, Henry realized with surprise that these men were not illiterate tramps who needed the hobo signs to get by; many were educated, and some had been schoolteachers or shopkeepers, but they had now lost everything. Henry felt sad for them. He knew how much his family’s farm meant to his folks.

  Henry pulled out his copy of Tom Sawyer, but somehow he didn’t feel like reading about Tom and Huck. He leaned back and felt the wheels vibrating through the floor of the car. Mr. Glass had said they’d crossed the border and were in Alberta now. He was almost there.

  This was not how he’d imagined today would go. Henry wondered what his life would be like riding the rails, never settling down in one place or having enough money to buy a meal. Being a prairie pirate was fun, but he suddenly wanted very much to see his family again.

  CHAPTER 13

  The evening sky was bruised purple when Clickety Clack nudged Henry awake. “Have a look at this, Hank.”

  Henry stretched his aching muscles. Sleeping on the hard wooden floor of a rocking boxcar was nothing like his soft bed at home. He followed Clickety Clack to the open door and looked out across the endless prairie.

  Henry was awestruck. “Unbelievable!” To the west, rising out of the flat prairie, were the majestic Rocky Mountains!

  They trailed across the horizon like a parade of tall sailing ships, their jagged masts reaching to the stars. Each towering peak glistened in the early evening light. Snow! They still had snow at those lofty elevations. Gently rolling hills spread out at their feet like a giant’s rumpled carpet. Henry could imagine those hills covered by a vast golden ocean of grain, but now the fields were dry and empty.

  All Henry could do was stare in open-mouthed wonder.

  “The scenery’s something, all right. Calgary’s not far now.” Clickety Clack looked around for his bedroll. “We’d best gather our belongings.”

  Henry eagerly grabbed his book bag and sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the door as the lights of Calgary flickered into view.

  Calgary was a city much like Winnipeg. Tall buildings, short buildings, black cars rumbling past and people, lots of people. The city breathed with a life of its own.

  Their traveling companions wished High-handed Hank and Clickety Clack good luck as the train pulled into the railway yard.

  “Take care of yourself, Hank.” Fred Glass extended his hand and Henry shook it.

  Henry looked at the ragtag group and realized how close you could become in a short time. These men all faced hunger, loneliness, despair and the pain of being away from their families, but they had fed him, helped him and called him friend. It was strange to think they would go on with this nomad’s life, using the secret signs to find food or a place to sleep.

  “Thank you for making me feel so welcome.” There was a catch in his voice. “I don’t know if we’ll ever meet again, but I hope each of you finds what you’re looking for.”

  Henry and Clickety Clack jumped off the car and strolled into the fading evening light. After saying goodbye to the gang, Henry didn’t feel much like talking.

  They walked for a long time until Clickety Clack pointed to a worn-out store with a sign that read Seventh Street Mission. “Jackpot!” He spat into the gutter. In front of the building was a long line of men.

  “What are they waiting for?” Henry asked curiously.

  “Food,” Clickety Clack said matter-of-factly. “That, Hank, is a bread line and this is a soup kitchen. It goes hand in hand with the dole. We’ll get supper here and, if we play our cards right, a place to bunk for the night. Follow my lead…”

  Henry remembered his father’s words about the dole being a shameful thing and real men not taking charity, but here were many men accepting a hand-out. They couldn’t all be freeloaders. These men were like his friends in the boxcar— good people temporarily caught in a bad place. Eating a free meal when you were starving didn’t mean you were weak or lazy.

  The old hobo and the young boy inched forward in the line. Finally they were inside, and Henry saw a counter on which sat a giant soup kettle and, beside it, dozens of neatly stacked loaves of bread.

  Each man stepped up and held out his bowl. An extremely large woman with tinted spectacles stood behind the big black cauldron. She sucked her teeth as she carefully filled each bowl with steaming soup. A tiny lady with gleaming paper-white hair then gave each man a thick slice of bread. The large room was filled with long tables where the men sat and ate.

  When Henry and Clickety Clack reached the soup woman, Henry held out his bowl.

  Clickety Clack put his hand on Henry’s slender shoulder. “This is my young grandson, ma’am, and we’re much obliged for the meal. We’ve been on the road for weeks.”

  Henry felt a flush of guilt at the lie, but under the circumstances he was sure his mother would agree that stretching the truth a little was acceptable.

  The portly woman nodded in understanding, then smiled sympathetically at Henry as she filled his bowl right to the brim. “You eat all that soup, young man. It’s full of hearty vegetables.”

  Henry sniffed. It seemed those “hearty vegetables” were for the most part cabbage. He thought of how he used to complain about his mother’s cabbage soup. Maybe he was hungrier or perhaps just wiser, but this time the soup smelled wonderful and Henry’s mouth watered. He thanked her and moved to the bread lady.

  “My my, son, you look half starved. I think you need two pieces.” The bird-like bread lady added a second piece to Henry’s bowl.

  Henry bobbed his head and thanked her.

  Clickety Clack continued talking. “Yes, he’s been through a lot. He lost both his parents in a tragic accident.” At this, Clickety Clack took off his old hat in a gesture of respect for the imaginary tragedy. “He’s never been the same since.”

  The wily hobo lowered his voice so only the two ladies and Henry could hear. “He’s mighty afraid to sleep outside, you know, because
of his parents’ misfortune…the grizzly bear…”

  “Oh my! Oh my!” The bird lady’s hands fluttered like wings in front of her face.

  Henry did his best to look like an orphan. Shocked, the spectacled lady sucked on her teeth dramatically. “Land sakes! He shouldn’t have to suffer any more than he already has.” She crooked her finger at Clickety Clack, who moved closer. “Come by later and you and the boy can sleep in the back.” She winked, then looked at Henry and shook her head sadly.

  The hobo and the boy moved on.

  “Well, now, I’d say that went rather well.” Clickety Clack grinned as they sat at one of the tables.

  “But what you told them wasn’t true. My parents are both alive.” Henry didn’t like the idea of lying to old ladies.

  “Look, boy, if I have a chance to sleep in a bed, I think it’s worth a little white lie. No one was hurt and we don’t have to huddle in a doorway tonight. There are worse things than grizzly bears in the big city. Now, eat your soup.” He reached over and took half of Henry’s second piece of bread. Henry raised an eyebrow and Clickety Clack scowled. “What are you gawking at? I’m half starved too, or didn’t you notice?”

  They loitered outside the kitchen until the last homeless man left, then slipped inside for a good night’s rest.

  In the mission’s narrow back room, while Clickety Clack snored peacefully on one of the two hard beds, Henry rummaged in his book bag until he found his journal and the chewed stub of a pencil. Ever since he’d said goodbye to the other travelers, he’d been thinking of his mother. Before he could sleep, he had to write her. He wanted to let her know he was safe and that he was sorry for… well, for everything. He thought of the money he’d stolen. That had been wrong, he knew that now.

  When he’d finished writing to his mother, he tore a fresh page out of his journal and wrote a special letter to Anne, using simple words and correct hobo signs to explain his adventures. Tomorrow he would buy an envelope and a three-cent stamp. His mind replayed everything he’d gone through, and he remembered how lonely he’d felt on the train, listening to the hobos’ stories.

  This was not how he’d imagined today would go, but he wanted his mother and Anne to know that he finally understood something very important—home and family mattered more than anything.

  CHAPTER 14

  The next morning they arrived at the Glenmore Dam and Reservoir Relief Project. Henry couldn’t believe he’d made it. The odds had been against him, but he hadn’t given up. Henry could have whooped out loud for joy! Tom and Huck would have been proud of him.

  Henry couldn’t pull his eyes away from the huge dam. It soared in a towering concrete wall to the far side of the gorge where, one day, water would back up and cover the entire valley spread out in front of him.

  The site was a hive of activity. Men toiled with picks and shovels as wheelbarrows and horse-drawn wagons trundled among the work parties. Henry wondered how he was going to find his father in all this commotion.

  “Let’s go see the foreman. He’ll tell us where your pa is.” Clickety Clack started toward a small, corrugated metal building.

  Once inside, Henry marched up to the desk and held out the picture of his father. “My name is Henry Dafoe and this is my father, Michael. He’s working here. Can you tell me how to find him?”

  Frowning, the foreman looked at the picture, and then recognition flooded his face. “Sure! Mike Dafoe. He’s working down by the river.” The foreman looked past Henry to where Clickety Clack stood in the doorway. “You looking for a job, buddy? This is your lucky day. I can use a man on shovel detail.” He pushed a piece of paper across his desk. “Sign on the dotted line and report to the crew chief for assignment.”

  Clickety Clack hefted his bedroll and shuffled his feet. “Much obliged, mister. Let me take the boy to his pa first.”

  Henry and Clickety Clack walked to the edge of the high embankment overlooking the river. Henry smiled up at the old hobo who’d brought him so far and taught him so much. “This is a day to remember, Clickety Clack. A job on the dam for you and I’ll finally find my pa. Everything’s working out swell! My pa will want to meet you. You’ll like him and I know he’ll like you.” Henry couldn’t stop talking or smiling, but when he looked at Clickety Clack’s face his smile faded.

  The hobo shook his head. “I don’t fit in here, Hank. This is no life for an old rod rider like me. I’ve got traveling dust in my shoes.”

  “But I thought you were going to take a job here, with my pa and me.” Henry’s throat felt tight and his eyes swam. “Wait! The money I owe you!” He fumbled in his pocket and held out the crumpled bills. “Here, we agreed on five dollars cash money. Take it. You can stay in a fancy hotel for a few days. You’ll change your mind after you’ve had a hot bath and slept in a soft bed.”

  Clickety Clack stared out over the valley. “You know, Hank, we knights of the road are like family, and family sticks together. You keep that money and do the right thing with it.”

  Henry realized that Clickety Clack must have figured out how he’d come by the cash.

  Clickety Clack was a smart old gentleman.

  When he returned the money to his mother, Henry decided he would give her back double the amount he’d taken! That’s what a true knight of the road would do.

  He nodded in solemn promise. Tears burned the corners of his eyes, spilling over. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “Now, boy, none of that. You knew from the beginning that I rode the rails and I rode ‘em alone.” Clickety Clack gently laid his hands on Henry’s shoulders and looked down into his wet face. “Hank, I want you to know something. You were the first pardner I ever had and you’ve made me see the light. Having a great companion like you is something I could get used to.”

  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.

  CHAPTER 15

  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.