Secret Signs by Shelley Hrdlitschka

C HAPTER 1

    The air grew strangely still, and the hair on the back of Henry Dafoe’s neck stood straight up. He sucked in his breath. Marching toward him across the parched prairie was a towering black wall that blotted out the sun.
    He and his little sister, Anne, were walking home after school on the path that skirted a shallow lake, now nearly dry. The baked mud at the edge of the water was cracked and lined like the face of an old man.
    â€œCome on, Anne, we’ve got to run!” Henry yelled as he grabbed her wrist.
    â€œStop it, Henry! You’ll crinkle the picture I made for Mama.” Anne jerked her arm out of her brother’s grasp.
    Henry hated babysitting his sister, especially when she wouldn’t listen, which was nearly all the time. He pointed at the dark curtain that stretched across the horizon. “If you don’t get a move on, you’ll be swallowed up by that dust cloud, and then what will happen to your precious picture?”
    Anne’s blue eyes grew wide with fear. She scanned the shore, then darted away, running toward an old boat stuck in the mud at the lake’s edge. “Henry, let’s take the rowboat! It’s only ten minutes across the lake.”
    â€œWe’re not taking any stupid boat. We have to make a run for it!” He tried again to grasp his sister’s arm, but she was too fast for him.
    â€œIt will take us a million years to get home along the path,” she argued, tears welling in her eyes. “The boat is right here! Why can’t we take it? Henry, I’m scared!”
    â€œDon’t be such a big baby,” Henry growled. “You think you can turn on the waterworks and get whatever you want? Well, think again. Now, come on!”
    He lunged for her arm, missed again and accidentally knocked his sister backward into the shallow slough. Her dress immediately became the same dirty gray as the stagnant water that swirled around her. The picture of the bright red flowers sank to the silty bottom and dissolved in a slurry of wet paint and mud.
    â€œServes you right for not listening.” Henry glared at his soggy sister. The breeze had picked up, and he glanced at the darkening sky. “Stay if you want, but I’m leaving.” He turned to go.
    Henry wanted to run, but he knew his mother would be angry if he abandoned his sister, so he waited while Anne struggled out of the water, her wails carried away on the howling storm. Gripping his sister’s muddy hand, he dragged her to the safety of their farm.
    The wind was a black fist hammering their house. Henry doodled in his journal and tried to ignore the moaning gale. Even though the windows and doors were closed tight, fine dust drifted in and settled on the picture he’d drawn.
    The drawing was of something his pa called a hobo sign—a symbol usually written in chalk or coal on a fencepost or gate. The signs directed tramps to a meal or a place to sleep or warned them of trouble in the area. His father said that a lot of hobos couldn’t read, so the signs were a good way of communicating.
    No one had ever told Henry what the signs meant, but he was sure he’d figured out some of their meanings. He prided himself on being extremely clever and wasn’t shy about letting folks know just how smart he was, but his quick tongue often got him into a lot of trouble. Grown-ups were always telling him he was too smart for his own good. Henry studied the hobo sign he was working on. He’d seen it scribbled on the fence near Mr. Fitzwilliam’s house.It looked like a gentleman’s top hat, and since Mr. Fitzwilliam was an undertaker and wore a tall black hat, Henry assumed the symbol meant that you were in the right place if you were planning a funeral.
    â€œHenry, put that away, dear,” his mother admonished as she dished up the soup they were having for supper.
    â€œYes, ma’am.” Henry slid the journal under his behind. He