He nudged a wheel with his toe. “All that work for nothing,” he muttered.
“Can I at least try it?” asked Sophie.
“Sure. Go ahead.”
It was a snug fit between the two sides of the wooden soap box but she managed to wrap her skirt around her knees and squeeze in. She rested her feet on the front axle.
“What’s this rope for?”
“For steering, but you have to lean, too, just like you do on a bike.”
She swayed back and forth a few times. “I could do it, Artie. Really, I bet I could.”
“You could do what?”
“Look, if you loaned me a pair of your jeans and that Jughead hat of yours, everybody’ll think I was you. No one would even guess. Don’t shake your head like that. I bet it would work. And you’d win that Genuine Silver Spitfire badge. I’d just take the ten bucks. So how about it?”
Arthur looked down at her through the thick lenses of his glasses. “Well,” he shrugged. “It’s worth a try, I guess.
But what would Maman say?”
“She won’t have to know, will she?”
“If you say so. Anyway, see this stick?” said Arthur. “You pull on it and it pushes against the back wheel like this, see? That should stop it pretty quickly.”
Sophie pulled on the stick and saw that it rubbed against the back wheel. “Push me around the yard a bit and I’ll see how it works.”
Arthur Pushed her around the backyard and when Sophie wanted to stop, she pulled back on the stick. The cart skidded to a stop.
“Works great,” she said. “One thing we haven’t thought of. What about your glasses? I’d have to wear them too for the disguise. Let me try them on.”
“Okay, but be careful with them.” He gingerly handed her his glasses.
The backyard became so fuzzy when she put them on that she couldn’t make out the back steps of the house.
“Ow!” said Arthur, stumbling and falling over the front of the go-cart.
Sophie pulled off the glasses and saw Arthur on his knees in front of her, rubbing his eyes. “I can’t see a thing without them,” he complained.
“And I can’t see a thing with them.” She handed them back. Arthur cleaned them carefully on his shirt tail and stuck them back on.
“We’ll have to think of something else,” Sophie said.
“Hey, I think I know.” He hurried into Uncle Dave’s tool shed. She struggled out of the gocart and followed.
The tool shed was jampacked with every tool you could think of. Along one side was a work bench cluttered with bits of wood, scraps of metal, nails, screws and hammers.
“Just what I was looking for,” said Arthur, handing Sophie goggles with brown leather frames and straps.
“What kind of goggles are these?” she asked, tightening the strap.
“Airplane goggles, I think.”
“Neat-o,” she said, trying them on. “They’re just like real racing goggles, aren’t they? Will Uncle Dave mind if we borrow them?”
“Naw. He said I could use whatever I wanted from the tool shed. As long as I put everything back when I’m finished with it.”
“Arthur!” They heard Maman calling from the back door. “Supper’s ready. Have you seen Sophie?”
“Here I am, Maman,” said Sophie, taking off the goggles and stuffing them into her skirt pocket.
“What are you doing in that dirty shed, Sophie? That’s no place for a young lady. Come and get cleaned up for supper now, both of you.”
At the supper table, Henri and Joseph talked about what they’d seen at the coal mine.
“There were these long dark tunnels dug right into the rock and they had narrow train tracks in them,” said Henri.
“And carts that the workers filled with coal fitted on the tracks so when a cart was full, they just pushed it along the track,” said Joseph.
“So how would you like to work in a coal mine like that?” asked Uncle Dave.
“I don’t know,” said Joseph. “I don’t think I’d like to work in the dark all day.”
“Robert’s been working the mine for about a year now and he sure doesn’t like the shift work,” said Aunt Michelle. “Sometimes he doesn’t see the sun for weeks.”
“Miners make a lot of money, don’t they?” said Henri.
“The mines around here pay as well as anywhere,” said Uncle Dave. “But there are risks. Sometimes there are cave-ins and people could get killed, although the mine here in Carbon is pretty safety conscious.”
“If Robert doesn’t like it, why is he working there?” asked Joseph.
“He’s trying to earn enough money to go to university,” said Aunt Michelle.
“I quit the mine two years ago so now we can’t afford to send him,” said Uncle Dave, clearing his throat. “The doctor said my lungs couldn’t take the dampness and the air quality anymore. I don’t want a miner’s life for my son though, so when he’s ready, I’ll help Robert all I can, to get a good education.”
Sophie saw Henri and Joseph nodding. She didn’t think her brothers would ever want to become miners. She knew she’d hate it herself. Imagine burrowing underground all day long and never seeing daylight. It didn’t sound like much fun, no matter how much it paid.
“What a perfect day for the Go-cart Derby,” said Aunt Michelle, pulling up the blinds in the kitchen so the morning sun could shine on the kitchen table.
“Perfect,” said Papa. “Is your cart all set to go, Arthur?”
Arthur nodded, the sunlight glinting off his glasses. “I guess so.”
“Don’t forget to use plenty of oil on the wheels,” said Uncle Dave. “Most of the kids don’t know about that and it makes all the difference.”
“Right,” said Arthur.
“We’ll all be down at the finish line cheering for you,” said Papa.
“Okay,” said Arthur. He’d already finished his cereal. “Come on, Sophie. The derby starts at 9:00 and it’s already 8:30.”
Sophie gulped down the rest of her milk and got up to follow him outside.
“Where are you going, Sophie?” asked Maman.
“Arthur asked me to help him take the go-cart up to the top of the hill on Steele Street.”
“Joseph and Henri could help him.”
“But he already asked me.”
“All right, all right,” said Maman. “We’ll see you two after the race.”
“Good luck, Arthur,” said Uncle Dave.
Arthur nodded and Sophie quickly followed him out the back door before Maman changed her mind.
On their way up the hill, Sophie felt like a stuffed teddy bear with Arthur’s jeans rolled up under her skirt, but if they won, it would be worth it. She’d be a whole ten dollars richer. She pushed the back of the Ivory Snow soap box while Arthur pulled the rope at the front.
She heard an announcer in the distance saying, “On your marks, get set, go!”
“Oh no! They’ve started!” she said. “We’re too late.”
“That’s probably the younger kids,” said Arthur. “They run the Pee-wee races first.” But he broke into a jog and the go-cart bounced behind him.
Sophie had to run to keep up. She was out of breath when they reached the top of Steele Street. The race course started at the top of the steep hill where an even steeper wooden ramp had been built. Steele Street had been divided into six lanes with white chalk lines that ran down the ramp and all the way down the hill to the finish line at the bottom where the road leveled out.
The street was lined with crowds of people: dads, grandpas, moms, lots of kids and even more dogs. Milling around the starting ramp were boys with their go-carts and a couple of official looking men. The go-carts all looked pretty fancy compared to Arthur’s soap box, especially one shiny red one.
“All Senior contestants, boys, twelve and up, line up on this side,” announced an official. He handed out handkerchief-sized pieces of white cotton with numbers painted in black on them. Arthur got number seven
and told the official his name and age and that he was from Montreal.
“All the way from the other side of the country? Well, good luck to you. You’ll be in the second heat for Seniors,” said the official, writing on his clip board.
Meanwhile, another official announced through a megaphone, “Final heat for Pee-wees.”
The six lanes were quickly taken up by eager younger boys pushing their go-carts up the ramp and climbing in.
“On your marks, get set, go!” shouted the official. The carts were shoved down the ramp and sped down the steep hill towards the finish line. The crowd cheered and clapped. Now it was time for the Senior division.
Sophie’s stomach was churning. They were standing next to the boy with the fanciest looking go-cart. His friend was pinning number one to the back of his shirt under writing that said “Red Flash” while Sophie pinned number seven onto the back of Arthur’s green jacket. When were she and Arthur going to get a chance to change clothes?
’Red Flash’ peered down at Arthur’s go-cart. “Look at that crate!” he snorted to his friend. “Didn’t even paint it. Bet it doesn’t make it to the bottom of the hill.”
Sophie saw Arthur’s ears turn red, but he didn’t say anything. She was about to give the boy a mean Star Girl glare and a piece of her mind when the official announced, “Heat one, Seniors. Numbers one to six.”
“See you later, Little Ivory Snow,” snarled ’Red Flash’ out of the corner of his mouth. Then he and his friend laughed and pushed the fancy red go-cart to the top of the ramp.
“We must be in the next heat,” Arthur told Sophie.
She nodded and took a deep breath, trying to calm her nervous stomach.
“On your mark, get set, go!” said the starter.
While the first six go-carts flew down the hill, Sophie and Arthur ducked behind the ramp. She wiggled out of her skirt, rolled down the jeans legs and pulled on the goggles. Arthur handed her his green jacket which she put on over her sweater.
“And the hat,” she said.
“Yeah, right.” He reluctantly gave her his Jughead hat which she squashed down on her head and pushed in as many curls as she could.
“So how do I look?”
He nodded. “Not bad. This just might work.”
“Heat two. To your places,” announced the official.
Arthur helped Sophie push the go-cart to the top of the ramp. She had the outside lane. She climbed in, squeezing herself into the narrow box of the go-cart and grabbing the rope in both fists.
“On your marks,” said the announcer.
Sophie peered through the goggles down the steep ramp. The goggles steamed up so everything looked foggy.
“Get set.”
She gripped the rope in her fists.
“Go!”
She gasped as she felt Arthur give the go-cart a big heave. Down the ramp she flew, and straight down the hill.
“Come on, Star Girl!” she urged the go-cart forward. Before she even had a chance to draw another breath, she was over the finish line.
“Second!” said the finish judge. “Number seven. You qualify for the final heat.”
Sophie pulled on the braking stick and the go-cart came to a skidding stop beside a farm truck.
“Boy in the green shirt, number seven, into the truck. We’ll take you and your cart up the hill for the finals.”
Sophie swayed her shoulders and tried to look boyish as she boosted herself out of the go-cart. Two men swung it up onto the back of the truck, along with the first and third place finishers.
She climbed up beside the cart and held it on the truck during the bumpy ride along a side street and back up the hill to the starting ramp.
Arthur was up there waiting for her behind the ramp. He was blinking fast behind his thick lenses and his curly black hair was sticking out all over the place.
“So what did you place? I couldn’t tell from up here.”
“Second, I think. We’re in the finals anyway.”
“Here, I’m going to put on some more of Uncle Dave’s oil. Might make a difference.” He took an oil can out of his bag and squirted so much oil on all four wheels that oil dripped onto the road.
“That’s enough, that’s enough!” said Sophie.
“Uncle Dave said to use plenty.”
“Final heat for Seniors,” announced the official.
“That’s us,” said Arthur. His face was red with excitement. “Come on. Let’s go.” He pushed the go-cart to the top of the ramp.
Sophie noticed the wheels leaking oil all the way up the ramp as she scurried after him. She climbed into the go-cart while he held onto the back.
Next to them was ’Red Flash’. He smirked down at Sophie. “Well, now if it ain’t Little Ivory Snow, craziest crate in the west.”
Sophie ignored him. She stared through the goggles down the ramp and down the hill to the finish line.
“On your marks!” the official said into his megaphone.
“This is it,” breathed Arthur right behind Sophie.
She pushed down the Jughead hat and gripped the steering rope in both fists.
“Get set.”
She drew in a deep breath.
“Go”
She felt Arthur giving the go-cart a mighty heave. And she was off, flying down the ramp.
“Come on, Star Girl!” she muttered, concentrating on that finish line. It felt as if she was soaring all the way down the hill. But she was going too fast, way too fast! She yanked back on the brake stick. It came off in her hand! Now she had no brakes! She lowered her head and braced herself for a crash. Her goggles had fogged up so she couldn’t see where she was going.
“First!” she heard the official shout. “Number seven, Ivory Snow!” She had whizzed by the finish. She had won! She and Arthur had won! She heard the crowd roar, “Ivory Snow! Ivory Snow!”
But she couldn’t stop. She had no brakes. She’d have to use her feet. She stuck one foot out on either side of the go-cart and dragged her feet along the road. Her feet skidded along the gravel, spraying dust up into her face. She still didn’t stop. She dragged her feet harder until she was sure the bottom of her shoes would be worn right through. She forced the cart to slow down and finally, it came to a stop. She took a big deep breath, but started coughing because of all the dust.
A crowd gathered around her. “You won! Ivory Snow! You won the derby!” they shouted.
“The winner,” announced the official. “Arthur LaGrange, all the way from Montreal, Quebec.”
The crowd cheered.
Sophie stopped coughing and struggled out of the go-cart. She raised her fogged-up dusty goggles. It looked as though there were hundreds of people pressed around her. The officials tried to push the crowd back. Someone bumped into her and Arthur’s hat fell off her head. The breeze caught it and blew it along the ground. She raced after it, grabbed it, and jammed it back on her head. But not in time.
“It’s a girl!” someone shouted. “The winner’s a girl!”
The official looked so surprised that his thick eyebrows shot up and became lost in his fedora. But he leaned down and grabbed Sophie’s hand. “Congratulations,” he said, shaking her hand. “You won this race, fair and square.” Then he handed her a crisp ten dollar bill and the Genuine Silver Spitfire badge.
’Thanks,” said Sophie. “Thanks a lot!” She was so excited she felt she’d burst.
She gave the newspaper man a wide smile when he snapped her picture. She felt ten feet tall, she was so proud, even when she saw Maman in the crowd, shaking her head and looking embarrassed.
On the way back to Uncle Dave’s house, Maman scolded her. “Who ever heard of a girl driving a go-cart? What kind of behaviour is that? What ever are we going to do with you, Sophie?”
But the way Arthur was grinning at her and holding onto his hat with the Genuine Silver Spitfire badge on the very top, Sophie knew it had all been worth it.
Besides, she was now ten dollars richer. Just thi
nk of all the Star Girl comics she could buy with ten whole dollars!
8
The next morning the whole family squeezed into the car before the sun was even up, and they waved goodbye to Uncle Dave and Aunt Michelle.
“See you soon. Come and visit us again.”
“Don’t get lost,” called out Uncle Dave.
“Watch those steep mountain roads,” said Aunt Michelle.
Arthur let Sophie have the window seat behind Papa. He was still happy about winning that Genuine Silver Spitfire badge. Sophie had to admit it looked nifty on his Jughead hat.
After driving south for awhile, Papa turned the car west again and soon the Alberta hills became steeper and steeper. The car went up and down as if they were on a roller coaster.
They had stayed up visiting with Uncle Dave and Aunt Michelle late the night before so Sophie was sleepy. After a while she grew tired of staring out the window at the trees swishing by and she dozed off.
Suddenly, the car bumped into a pothole and she woke with a start. There, right in front of the car were giant grey slabs of rock jutting up into the sky. They must be the Rocky Mountains.
“Wow!” said Sophie. She had never imagined anything so enormous. “Do we have to go right over those mountains?” She craned her neck to see the snowy tops.
“Of course,” said Arthur. “How else can we get to the Pacific Ocean?”
“But what if, what if…” she didn’t finish. She was going to say what if their car brakes failed like the go-cart’s did yesterday? If it happened to a go-cart, couldn’t it happen to their car as well?
She swallowed hard and stared at the mountains and wished for a moment that they were back driving on the flat prairie again. But, she scoffed at herself, Star Girl wouldn’t be scared. After all, lots of cars made it over the mountains every single day.
After awhile she saw a sign at the side of the road. “You are leaving Alberta. Thank you for coming,” she read aloud. Then there was another sign. “Welcome to Beautiful British Columbia.”
“B.C!” she squealed. “We’re here! We’re here! We’re in B.C.” Maybe they wouldn’t have to drive over the mountain tops after all.
Sophie Sea to Sea Page 7