Buried Secrets at Louisbourg by Jo Ann Yhard Page A

have to, Grace, or you can’t stay,” Fred snapped. She was impossible. “We have to wear stuff like they did back then for this re-enactment thing. That’s the deal when they let you camp here.”
    Mai reached over and smoothed out the front of Grace’s apron. “It’s kind of pretty,” she said, “a nicer blue than this dark one.” She bunched the skirt of her own dress in her hand.
    â€œAt least your outfits don’t scratch like a blanket of fleas,” Fred said, pulling the short wool pants away from his skin. “And it’s hot as a sauna in these freakin’ things.”
    â€œA dress!” Grace ranted. “No one said anything about a stupid dress.” She stomped around the campsite, sending puffs of dust into the air.
    Fred twisted in his white shirt. The sleeves were like wings. He should have been able to take off into the sky. But they were too tight under the arms. “Man, this sucks,” he huffed, giving up the struggle. He flopped onto one of the tree stumps they had for seats.
    â€œSo what are we supposed to do, go around in bare feet?” Grace stuck out her foot. “Or can we wear our sneakers?” she asked as she tugged down on the dress. It only went to her ankles.
    â€œYou’re gonna love this,” Fred said. He dumped out the remaining contents of the canvas sack. Three pairs of wooden clogs fell into the dirt.
    Grace and Mai gaped at the shoes like they were slithering snakes. “You’re kidding, right?” Grace said.
    â€œNope,” Fred said.
    â€œThat’s it,” Grace said. “Stick me in this dumb dress, fine. But I’m not walking around with trees on my feet.”
    Mai slipped her foot into one of the clogs. “Ewww!” she yelped, kicking it off. “There’s something in there.”
    Fred picked it up and shook it out.
    Plop!
    A grey-brown
something
fell to the ground. They all leaned over it.
    â€œWhat
is
that?” Grace asked.
    Fred squatted on his haunches and poked it with a stick. It wasn’t grass or dirt, or an old sock.
Uh-oh.
He scooped it up and chucked it over the seawall before Mai or Grace could get a closer look.
    â€œJust a bunch of old moss and dirt.”
Attached to a dead mouse!
He figured he’d better leave that part out.
    â€œIt didn’t feel like moss to me,” Mai said, viciously scrubbing her foot with a wet wipe.
    â€œIt looked kind of like a—”
    â€œGrace, shut it!” Fred hissed through gritted teeth.
    â€œWhat?” Mai asked suspiciously.
    â€œNothing,” Fred said. But he made sure to check the other shoes while Mai scrubbed out the inside of the one she’d kicked off.
    Early risers were already walking through the fortress grounds. That was the sucky part of the encampment, Fred realized. Even though it had gotten him into the fortress, there were way too many people around. How was he going to get the box open without anyone else seeing?
    â€œOkay, so we’re in these weird old clothes. Now what?” Grace asked.
    â€œExplore the fortress,” Fred said. “I have to find something to open this box.”
    â€œWhere’s your dad?” Mai asked, passing around more of her granola goop. “He sure is busy here, isn’t he?”
    â€œDon’t know,” Fred said. Dad and his dive gear had been missing when he woke up that morning. Streaks of red from the rising sun had licked angrily across the sky like a raging grass fire. He’d shivered as an old saying popped into his head:
Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning
.
    He glanced out toward the water now. Mist hung low over the harbour, hiding its secrets. A tall ship drifted into view, silent and slow as a ghost ship. His attention was caught by a sign posted on the shore:

    I bet whatever Dad’s doing, he didn’t get permission from anyone.
Fred’s