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  CRISS CROSS, DOUBLE CROSS

  Criss Cross Double Cross

  Sophie * Alias Star Girl * to the Rescue

  Norma Charles

  Copyright © 2002 by Norma Charles

  First Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from CANCOPY (Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency), Toronto, Ontario.

  This book is published by Beach Holme Publishing, 226-2040 West 12th Avenue, Vancouver, B.C. V6J 2G2. www.beachholme.bc.ca This is a Sandcastle Book.

  The publisher gratefully acknowledges the financial support of the Canada Council for the Arts and of the British Columbia Arts Council. The publisher also acknowledges the financial assistance received from the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) for its publishing activities.

  Editor: Suzanne Norman

  Production and Design: Jen Hamilton

  Cover Art: Ljuba Levstek

  Author Photograph: Brian Wood

  Printed and bound in Canada by AGMV Marquis Imprimeur

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Charles, Norma M.

  Criss cross, double cross

  “A Sandcastle book.”

  ISBN 0-88878-431-7

  I. Title.

  PS8555.H4224C73 2002 jC813’.54 C2001-910160-3

  PZ7.C3783Cr 2002

  In memory of Suzanne Norman’s children, Hannah and Benjamin

  1

  One August morning in 1949 in Maillardville, British Columbia, the heat was already rising in shimmering currents from the dusty road. The whole summer day stretched out as long and hot and empty as a straight prairie highway in the middle of a heat wave.

  Sophie LaGrange was sitting in the shade on the top step of her front porch reading a comic book about her favourite superhero, Star Girl. From just outside her gate, she heard loud barking and frantic squeals.

  Trouble! Someone was in trouble! Star Girl to the rescue!

  Sophie leaped from the steps and dashed across the lawn. She flung open the gate and a flurry of white fur exploded past her legs. A cat! Right behind it, with long ears and tongue flapping, loped a brown dog.

  Running after them, Sophie yelled, “Get away, dog! Leave that cat alone! Get away!”

  But the dog dashed past her, yapping at the cat’s tail. The cat jumped onto the trunk of an apple tree and scrambled into its branches, leaving the dog barking frantically at the bottom. Sophie recognized the cat. It was Gigi from next door. Her friend Jake’s cat.

  “There you are, Bunny! Come on, boy.” A girl rushed into the yard. It was Elizabeth Proctor, who had been in Sophie’s grade-four class.

  “Is that your dog?” Sophie cried over the barking.

  “Yes!” Elizabeth Proctor yelled back. She was wearing a red ribbon tied in a big bow around her long blond hair to match her red shorts and red blouse.

  Sophie smoothed the skirt of her wrinkled sundress.

  “We got him just a few weeks ago,” Elizabeth said. “I was taking him for a walk. He has to have a walk every day, you know. But he got away and ran on ahead. I don’t know why. My Bunny is usually such a good dog.”

  The dog pawed at the tree trunk and barked some more at the cat on the branch above his head. Gigi hissed back at him, her tail fluffed angrily.

  “Call your dog off,” Sophie said. “Can’t you see that cat is scared?”

  Elizabeth shrugged and pulled on the dog’s collar. “Come on, Bunny. That’s right. Come on, Bunny-boy.” The dog reluctantly left the tree but continued to bark. “That cat must have been teasing my Bunny. That’s probably why he started chasing it. Maybe if he had a drink of water he’d stop barking.”

  “Okay. I’ll get him one.”

  Sophie went up the steps and into the house. She thought Elizabeth would wait in the front yard, but the girl followed her right inside and down the hall, and so did her dog, his claws clicking on the polished hardwood floor.

  The kitchen was hot and steamy. Grand’maman was at the wood stove, wearing a big flowery apron, frying a pan of chopped onions and garlic to put into the boulettes she was making. When she saw the girls, she smiled at them over her steamed-up glasses. “Bonjour, mes filles. Qa va?”

  Sophie wished her grandmother wouldn’t speak French in front of her friends. They’d all think she didn’t know how to speak English. “This is Elizabeth Proctor, Gran,” she said loudly. “She was in my class at school. I’m going to give her dog a drink of water.”

  Elizabeth’s dog tangled around their legs and barked at Grand’maman, who arched her eyebrows but nodded and continued to stir the sizzling pan on the stove. She wiped her sweaty brow with the hem of her apron.

  Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “What’s that...um...smell?”

  “It’s onions my grandmother’s frying for a special dish for supper. Sort of spicy meatballs. She puts in plenty of onions and garlic, then lets them simmer all afternoon. They’re so good.”

  Elizabeth sniffed. “Onions give my father indigestion. We never have them at my house.”

  Sophie shrugged and put a bowl of water on the floor for the dog. He stopped barking long enough to slurp up the water with his long pink tongue.

  “How come your bread’s all lumpy?” Elizabeth asked. On the table were four fresh plump loaves of bread with bumpy golden brown crusts.

  Sophie shrugged again. “That’s just how it turned out, I guess. My gran always bakes bread for us on Thursdays. With all my brothers around, it doesn’t last very long.”

  “We buy our bread at the grocery store,” Elizabeth said. “We get the kind that’s wrapped in a bag to keep it clean and fresh and it’s all specially sliced. I’m sure thirsty, too.” She stared down at her dog. “Sure would like a cold bottle of pop.”

  “I don’t think we have any pop, but maybe some lemonade. Could we please have some lemonade, Gran?”

  “Mais oui!” Grand’maman said, still stirring her onions. “In the icebox.”

  Sophie got the pitcher out of the icebox and poured herself and Elizabeth each a glass.

  “Could I have some ice cubes in mine, please?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Ice cubes? We haven’t got any. Just the block of ice in the top of the icebox. I could maybe break off a piece for you.”

  Elizabeth smoothed down her long hair. “No, that’s okay. We’ve had a real refrigerator at our house for ever so long, and we can have ice cubes whenever we want.”

  “That’s nice,” Sophie said. This girl was starting to get to her.

  Elizabeth took a tiny sip of her lemonade and screwed up her face.

  Sophie took a big gulp of hers and smacked her lips. The sweet-sour taste was refreshing. She drained her glass and sucked the slice of lemon at the bottom. Then she put the empty glass on the counter.

  Elizabeth placed her full glass beside it. “Guess I’m not all that thirsty, after all.”

  Her dog barked again. He was staring up at the bowl of meat for the meatballs, his drooling tongue hanging out as if he wanted to gulp down the whole batch in a single swallow. Grand’maman frowned at him.

  Sophie tried to hurry Elizabeth and her dog out of the kitchen before Grand’maman started yelling at them. In French. “Do you want to come to my room and see my Star Girl comic collection?” she asked. “I’ve got the latest issue where she saves a whole bunch of orphans in an earthquake.”

  “My mother says reading comics is very bad for your mind. She never allows me to read them. I only read fine lit
erature.”

  “Oh.” Sophie was puzzled. How could anything about Star Girl be bad? “Do you want to come and play checkers then?”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “Better bring your dog,” Sophie said, leading the way to her bedroom.

  “Doesn’t your grandmother even know how to speak English?” Elizabeth asked, pulling her dog along the hallway.

  Sophie’s cheeks burned. “Sure. She speaks English all the time. She just likes French better. She’s more used to it.”

  “Well, my mother says everyone who lives in British Columbia should speak English. After all, this is an English country. Did you know she named me after Princess Elizabeth?”

  “Oh.” Sophie raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes.

  In the bedroom Sophie shared with her grandmother, there were two bureaus and a big bed. On her grandmother’s bureau was a statue of the Virgin Mary with flowing blue robes. In front of it Grand’maman had put a small vase of flowers from her garden and a candle she lit at night when she said her rosary.

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open and she stared. “Oh, my! What’s that? I’ve never seen such a strange picture.”

  Alarmed, Sophie followed Elizabeth’s eyes to the wooden frame above the bureau. In it was a picture of Jesus with his shirt open, showing his heart with blood dripping from it. Sacré Coeur was written in old-fashioned letters under it. “Oh, that’s Jesus.” Sophie shrugged. “We call it Sacré Coeur. That means Sacred Heart. It shows Jesus loves us with all his heart.” Actually, Sophie had barely noticed the picture before.

  “Why do you have to have it in your bedroom? Doesn’t it give you the creeps?”

  “It’s my gran’s.”

  “But I thought this was your room.”

  “It is, but it’s my gran’s, too.”

  “You mean your grandmother sleeps here, too?”

  “Sure. The bed’s plenty big enough for both of us. My three big brothers sleep upstairs and my mom and dad share the front bedroom with my little brother. There aren’t any other bedrooms, so where else would my gran sleep?”

  “Humph,” Elizabeth snorted. “I’ve never heard of anyone having to sleep with their grandmother before.” She picked up a string of sparkling red glass beads and put it around her neck. “These beads are pretty. And they match my outfit, don’t you think? Although it would look a lot better if it didn’t have this cross on the end.” She patted back her hair and looked at herself in the small mirror on the wall.

  “That’s my gran’s rosary.” Sophie looked at the door nervously. What would Grand’maman say if she came in and saw Elizabeth playing with her rosary so disrespectfully?

  “Rosary?”

  Sophie nodded. “It’s what my gran uses to count her prayers. See, each one of those beads is for a Hail Mary and—”

  “Prayers? Oh!” Elizabeth quickly pulled off the rosary and dropped it onto the bureau.

  On Sophie’s bureau was a stack of her comics. Elizabeth picked up the top one, a Star Girl adventure, and eagerly flipped through it.

  “Didn’t you say you weren’t allowed to read comics?”

  “Right.” Elizabeth placed the comic back on the pile and looked down at it longingly.

  When a bird flew by the window, Elizabeth’s dog scuttled over and put his paws on the sill to yap at it. He bumped a jar and it fell onto the floor. The top popped off and a small green frog hopped out.

  “Hoppy!” Sophie squealed. She lunged after her frog with the dog on her heels. They scuffled on the floor, the dog barking and Sophie screeching and trying to push the dog out of the way so she could rescue her pet.

  When the frog jumped onto the bed, the dog scrabbled after it, pulling loose the blankets and sheets. Sophie clambered over the dog onto the bed and tried to snatch the frog, but it sprang onto the pillow. She dived and finally caught it between her cupped hands.

  “Got you!” she said, breathing hard. The frog froze in her hands, but the dog still barked like crazy. Sophie crawled out of the twisted blankets, gently put her frog back into his jar, and screwed on the lid. “There you go,” she told him. “Into your home sweet home.”

  Elizabeth’s dog wouldn’t stop barking even when Sophie put the jar on a high shelf. His tongue hung out and he drooled on Sophie’s legs when she tried to nudge him away with her knees.

  “Why are you keeping that frog in ajar?” Elizabeth asked.

  “It’s for my frog collection.”

  “Humph. Whoever heard of a frog collection? Well, it must be almost lunchtime. Guess we’d better be going home now.”

  “Want to stay for lunch? I bet my gran would let us have a taste of her boulettes.” Sophie smiled to herself. She knew what Elizabeth thought of Grand’maman’s cooking.

  “No, that’s okay,” Elizabeth sputtered. “My mother’s probably wondering where I am. Come on, Bunny-boy.” She pulled her dog by the collar, hurried down the hall, and escaped out the front door.

  Sophie shut the door after her and took a deep breath. “She thinks she’s so great! What a snob!” Sophie went back down the hall, wondering if Grand’maman would let her have a tiny sample of those yummy-smelling boulettes for lunch.

  2

  After a delicious pickle-and-boulettes sandwich on fresh homemade bread and another tall glass of lemonade, Sophie went out to the front gate and swung back and forth on the bottom rung. The hinges squeaked in a lonely way. She looked up and down the empty road. No one was out. Her next-door neighbour, Jake, must still be away on holidays with his family. Her three older brothers were busy in the backyard working on their bikes. She had no one to play with. If only she were still living in Montreal, she would be playing with best friend, Marcie. With Marcie around she was never lonely.

  The gate rung dug into Sophie’s bare feet so she jumped off. She found a pointed stick and drew ovals for a marble game in the hard-packed earth beside the fence. She tried to remember where she had put her bag of marbles.

  “Hi, Sophie. What are you up to now?”

  It was Elizabeth Proctor again, but this time without her dog. She was riding a brand-new shimmering red bicycle with big, fat balloon tires. Attached to the handlebars was a fancy wicker basket with a paper grocery bag in it.

  “Wow! Where did you get the new bike?” Sophie hopped around and stroked the bike’s shiny back fender. “Can I have a ride?”

  Elizabeth tossed back her hair and shook her head. “Sorry. No one can ride it but me because it’s brand-new. My daddy got it for me in the States when we were on our vacation in California. Have you ever seen such a beautiful bicycle in your whole entire life?”

  “It’s a beauty, all right. Can’t I ride it just to the end of the road and back? I promise I won’t wreck it or anything.” Sophie was so excited her mouth was watering.

  “No, I’m not allowed to lend it to anyone. Sorry.” Elizabeth smoothed her hair back over her shoulders again and patted her hair ribbon. She didn’t look the least bit sorry. “I’ve got to go back home now. My mother’s waiting for these groceries. Bye. See you later.” She mounted her bicycle again, thrust her nose in the air, and pedalled down the path as smoothly as a fancy figure skater on ice.

  “Stuck-up!” Sophie muttered. “She’s nothing but a dirty rotten stuck-up!” She stormed along the front path and almost bumped into Joseph, her oldest brother. He was rushing down the steps with a towel around his shoulders.

  “Where are you going, Joe?”

  “Swimming at Deer Lake,” he said, grabbing his bike from the front-porch railing.

  “Swimming! Can I come?”

  “Nosiree,” Joseph said, wheeling his bike past her. “For one thing, you don’t have a bike. And even if you did, you could never keep up with us.”

  “Could so!” Sophie shouted after him. “I could ride like the wind if I had a bike my size and you gave me half a chance!”

  “Hey, Joe. You guys coming or not?” his friend, Gerald, called from down the street.

&nb
sp; “We’re coming! We’re coming! Hold your pants!” Henri, Sophie’s second-oldest brother, yelled. He was pushing his bike around the side of the house. His baseball cap was on sideways and his freckled cheeks were already red from the heat of the day.

  Sophie’s third brother, Arthur, scrambled along the path and out the swinging gate. “See you later, kiddo,” he said, twiddling his fingers at Sophie. He scrunched down his Jughead hat, jumped on his bike, and pedalled furiously to catch up with his older brothers.

  Sophie ran out to the gate and watched them ride away in a cloud of dust.

  “They’re so lucky,” she grumbled to herself. “They get to spend the whole afternoon swimming at Deer Lake. It’s just not fair.” She swung on the gate again. “Just because they’re older. And boys.”

  Even Arthur, who was only twelve, had managed to earn enough money with his new paper route to buy a good secondhand bike from Cap’s Bicycles in Sapperton.

  Sophie was saving for a bike, too, but so far all she had in her piggy bank was $1.73, mostly in nickels and dimes. And there was no bike in the whole world she could buy for a measly $1.73.

  She slammed the gate shut, walked down the path and up the steps to the front door, and banged into the house. “Maman!”

  “I’m in the living room.” Sophie’s mother was sitting on the piano bench, flipping though a thick music book. She wore a cool cotton dress sprayed with pink flowers.

  “Maman, I really, really, need a bicycle. Everyone in the whole world has a bicycle but me. Could you buy me one? Please?”

  Her mother shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sophie. It takes all our money just to buy food and clothes for you and your brothers.”

  “It’s not fair!” Sophie cried. She knew her mother would say that, but she had to try. Papa had a good engineering job now since the family had moved from Montreal a few months ago, yet there was still never enough money for extras.

  “Could you please look after Zephram until his nap time while I practise these hymns on the piano?” Maman asked. Sophie’s little two-year-old brother was playing with his blocks under the piano bench, smacking them together.