The Secret of Sentinel Rock Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Book & Copyright Information

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  About the Author

  About the Many Peoples Series

  About LaVonne Black

  © Judith Silverthorne, 1996.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll-free to 1-800-893-5777.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Edited by Barbara Sapergia.

  Cover images: “Teenage Girl” by Steve Evans / Getty Images. Landscape photo by Masterfile. Painting of girl on rock by Debbie Edlin.

  Interior Illustrations by Kay Parley.

  Cover and book design by Duncan Campbell.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Silverthorne, Judith, 1953-

  The secret of Sentinel Rock / Judith Silverthorne.

  (From many peoples)

  Edited by Barbara Sapergia.

  ISBN 978-1-55050-386-9

  I. Sapergia, Barbara, 1943- II. Title. III. Series.

  PS8587.I2763S44 2007 jC813'.54 C2007-902252-9

  Available in Canada from:

  Coteau Books

  www.coteaubooks.com

  2517 Victoria Avenue, Regina, Saskatchewan S4P 0T2

  The publisher gratefully acknowledges the financial support of its publishing program by: the Saskatchewan Arts Board, the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), the City of Regina Arts Commission, the Saskatchewan Cultural Industries Development Fund, Saskatchewan Culture Youth and Recreation, SaskCulture Inc., Saskatchewan Centennial 2005, Saskatchewan Lotteries, and the Lavonne Black Memorial Fund.

  For Aaron,

  my son through several passages of time.

  – Judith Silverthorne

  This book, and the rest of the

  From Many Peoples series

  is dedicated to the memory of LaVonne Black.

  (See page 157)

  Chapter One

  Something was beckoning her from outside, Emily could sense it. Turning her back on the chattering crowd, she squirmed on the scratchy couch in her grandmother’s living room, and looked out the window at the farmyard and pasture beyond it. The sun was bright in the vivid spring sky. For the first time in days she felt the stirrings of energy and a need for adventure. Yet there was something more than that, something willing her to go ­outdoors.

  For two weeks Emily, her parents, and other family members had kept vigil at her grandmother’s hospital bedside as she lay in the final stages of a failing heart and old age. Near the end her Grandmother Renfrew hadn’t known anybody. She’d died peacefully in her sleep early in the morning four days ago at the age of ninety-­six.

  Even though Emily had been surrounded by family and friends since the funeral, she still felt hollow and drained. All she could think about was not being able to talk with her grandmother ever again. Wondering if the emptiness would always be there, she glanced wistfully out the window. The sudden longing to be outside tugged at her ­again.

  Then someone nudged her and a plate of sandwiches appeared in front of her. She shook her head and mumbled, “No thanks.”

  “You should try to eat something.”

  Emily looked up to find her mother standing anxiously over ­her.

  “I’m just not hungry, Mom.”

  Kate Bradford pushed her daughter’s dark hair away from her face and felt her forehead. “I hope you’re not coming down with something. You look flushed. Maybe you should go upstairs and lie down.”

  Before Emily could reply, Aunt Liz called from across the room. Emily watched her mother hurry away and disappear amid the crowd of relatives and neighbours who had come for lunch after the funeral service. Every available seat was occupied, and many people were milling about from one small chatting group to another in the stifling room. Flowers saved from the church were everywhere, their scent overwhelming. Emily felt like she was suffocating in the confines of the old stone ­house.

  Screak. She jumped when someone opened the nearby window. From outside she could hear the call of a meadowlark. A few moments later a refreshing breeze filtered through the warm room. The desire to head out the door and across the prairie was stronger than ever. Maybe she’d go out for a walk. Her parents would think she’d gone to lie down, and probably nobody else would notice she was ­missing.

  She stood up and threaded her way through the people in the living room. Her father flashed her a smile as she passed. Agnes Barkley, a close neighbour, swept her into a boisterous embrace. Aunt Liz winked at her, saying nothing. She was paying attention to Emily’s mother as she orchestrated the visitors towards food and ­seats.

  In the kitchen Gerald Ferguson, who rented her grandmother’s land, shook Emily’s hand and told her how sorry he was that her grandmother was gone. She thanked him, wiping the dampness from her eyes, and managed to ­escape.

  Once on the porch she was careful not to let the screen door slam behind her and slipped outside. From the moment she stepped onto the back stoop she felt compelled to head across the yard to the ­meadow.

  Emily turned towards the back of the tall stone house, away from the windows where someone might spot her. She crawled through the ­barbed-­wire fence into the pasture, being careful to tuck in her skirt so it wouldn’t get caught or torn. Then she raced across the wide open grasslands. The wind whipped her skirt against her bare legs and seemed to whisk her sadness ­away.

  What a glorious spring day. The smell of dry grass and sage wafted up to Emily as she ran over the uneven ground. It was exhilarating to be away from the gloom and solemnness of the mourners. Emily felt sure her grandmother would understand. She had loved the prairie as much as Emily ­did.

  As if in agreement, a chorus of frogs ribbitted in a nearby willow thicket. Emily laughed as she ran, drawn along a path she’d often taken with her grandmother. A meadowlark flitted overhead as she turned towards a clump of budding poplar trees just over a slight rise to her right. She followed its ­flute-­like call as it paused here and there along the edge of the bush, until it disappeared over the treetops. She was on the other side of the bluff now, and could no longer be seen from the ­house.

  She decided to catch her breath, then head back. She’d come quite far and hated the fuss her parents always made when she went off on her own. They’d probably discover she was missing soon. Emily sighed, and scratched at her bare legs where stray wisps of dry weeds tickled ­them.

  She stood up to go back, but hesitated. Something drew her on. Stepping around a large stone half hidden in the tangled grass, she continued along the edge of the bluff, following the ­well-­worn path. She felt the slight strain on her legs as she gradually headed uphill. A few feet beyond the trees, she saw the familiar outcropping of rock where she and her grandmother had often stopped. Emily smiled, and instinctively knew this was where she needed to go. It was the perfect place to rest before heading ­ba
ck.

  Bursting into a quick trot up the last few feet of the incline, Emily found herself overlooking a small valley with its rolling hills that stretched and melted into the horizon. In all her wanderings across her grandmother’s property, this was her favourite spot. Emily caught her breath at the sight of all the crocuses that dotted the south side of the hillsides, delicate glimmers of lavender amongst the patches of reviving ­grass.

  In the distance to her left she could once again see Grandmother Renfrew’s stone house, where she’d spent every summer of her twelve years. The massive ­two-­story structure lost its distinguished look from this far away. In fact, it seemed quite small and ­ordinary.

  With a sense of urgency Emily sprinted to the large ­light-­grey boulder. It stood like a sentinel, its flat passive face overlooking the coulees, with a funny ­hat-­shaped slab jutting out over the uppermost part. Although her Grandmother Renfrew had been too old to scale the huge dolomite rock in the last few years of her life, Emily had often proceeded to the top, reporting back all the things that she ­saw.

  Today from the base of the rock the black expanse of the Barkleys’ summerfallowed field opposite her grandmother’s yard made a sharp contrast to the greening pasture below. Each was outlined by long stretches of ­barbed-­wire fence, with little stone piles at the corners. And in the distance to the southeast she could just make out the outlines of Glenavon’s grain elevators dotting the ­skyline.

  Excitement rose in Emily as she circled the rock. It stood about ten feet tall. The back side, although rougher, felt warm where the sun’s rays had shone during the afternoon hours. Emily groped for accustomed crannies and ridges to grab onto so she could haul herself up. As she did so, her hand loosened some dirt from a high spot which crumbled and fell down her neck, startling her. She stared up at the crack, then shook the debris out of her blouse, realizing that several of the crevices she’d used before must have filled with earth and sand since the last time she’d been ­up.

  Clutching at a jagged edge, she began scaling the rock, clearing the crevices of soil as she climbed. Although it was rough going, Emily finally grasped the last ledge and heaved herself over the top. She scrambled to her feet, turned – and ­screamed.

  Gasping in disbelief, Emily found herself facing another girl about the same age. She was so astounded she didn’t say anything for several seconds, just stood with her hands over her mouth. Staring back at her was a girl dressed in an ­ankle-­length blue print dress speckled with tiny rosebuds. Over it she wore a white apron with ruffles at the shoulder. Her ­sandy-­coloured hair was in long ­braids.

  “Yikes, you scared me.” Emily’s heart was pumping against her rib cage. “I didn’t know anyone was up here.” She lowered her hands to her chest as if to slow the pounding inside. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Emma.” The girl smiled timidly at ­Emily.

  Emily liked the lilting sound of the girl’s voice and smiled back, but wondered why she hadn’t seen anyone on top of the rock as she approached. Maybe Emma had been somewhere else among the other rocks? “I never saw you.”

  “No, you were too busy climbing to notice me, lass.”

  “Oh.” Emily was still unsure of how she’d missed seeing Emma earlier. And why did the girl talk so strangely, with the rolling r’s? Why did she call her lass? Then suddenly remembering her manners, Emily introduced ­herself.

  Emma reached for Emily’s hand. “How do you do?”

  Emily gave Emma’s hand a limp shake in return, then drew back, wondering at the other girl’s formality. And why was her hand so rough? Emily found herself staring shyly at Emma’s odd ­appearance.

  It wasn’t just her long dress. The girl wore ­high-­buttoned shoes too. She looked like one of those people who dressed up for heritage days or rodeos and exhibitions in the summer. Maybe she’s just a little weird, Emily thought. Or maybe Emma isn’t from around ­here.

  “Do you live…?” Emily froze, crying out in shock as she stared over Emma’s shoulder. The house and the summerfallowed field had vanished. In their place were willows and scrubby bush, thick over the open grasslands, except for the occasional stand of aspens. A creek meandered through the landscape and a huge slough lay in the distance. There were no fences. No stone piles. No elevators. Not even a gravel road – only a winding dirt trail that crawled across the ­plains.

  “Where’s my grandmother’s house?” Emily felt a shudder of fear. She turned to look at Emma when the girl didn’t answer right away. “Where are we?” Emily gave her head a quick shake and took another frantic ­look.

  With a puzzled expression, Emma answered, “On top of some rocks – in the middle of the prairies. And there are no houses here. Not yet anyway.”

  “But my grandmother’s stone house – it was right over there a few moments ago,” Emily pointed at the empty knoll. “I just came from it.”

  Emma turned to look. “There’s no house anywhere that I can see.” Doubt crossed the girl’s face. “We’re building a sod one, but we’ve only started. And it’s the other direction.” Emma motioned behind them. “Just over there on the other side of that bluff.”

  Emily looked in disbelief at a ridge of trees that she’d never seen ­before.

  “We’re camping until our new house is built,” Emma ­explained.

  “When did…?”

  “We’ve just moved to the area,” said the girl, looking warily at Emily. “Where do you come from? I thought we were the only family in this area.”

  That was impossible, Emily thought. She looked wildly about her, fighting to control the panic that was making her mouth go dry. Maybe she was in the middle of a dream. Yet she could feel the wind billowing her hair, and smell the fragrance of sage and wild grass. Dreams could be vivid, but not like ­this.

  Emma broke into her thoughts. “What’s wrong, Emily? Are you lost, lass?” She touched Emily’s shoulder, concern flickering in her ­eyes.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure about anything.” Emily’s voice quavered, then she looked squarely into Emma’s face. “I mean, one minute I’m on a rock where I’ve gone dozens of times with my grandmother, and I can see her house. And the next, you’re here and everything I know is gone. Where are all the fences and fields?”

  Looking worried, Emma suggested, “Did you maybe fall out of the back of a wagon and hit your head, lass? Maybe you’ve been left behind by mistake while your family has travelled on?”

  “There’s some kind of mistake all right, but I don’t know what,” Emily replied, clenching and unclenching her fists. “I’ve never ridden in a wagon with my family in my life. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Well, you must be from some place, but I’ve never seen anyone dressed like you. Why are you wearing such a short skirt, and with no stockings? Aren’t your legs cold?”

  Baffled, Emily looked at her hemline just above her knees. This encounter was getting weirder by the minute. “Well, I usually wear pants. But my mom makes me dress up for some things. It was my grandmother’s funeral today.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear about your grandmother,” said Emma. Then her eyes grew wide with interest. “But you wear trousers? Only men wear trousers.”

  This time it was Emily’s turn to look confused. “Of course I wear pants. Why are you dressed the way you are?” Maybe Emma was from some different kind of religious community. But that didn’t explain why the landscape had ­changed.

  “I always dress this way,” Emma replied, swishing the ­ankle-­length skirt around her legs. “This is all I have. Except my best dress for Sunday, of course.”

  “Of course? What do you mean – Sunday best?” Emily scraped her feet along the edge of the rock, thinking hard. She’d heard something about that kind of thing from Grandmother Renfrew. “Well…I do remember my grandmother telling me stories about when she was young,” she admitted to Emma. “Something about her having only two dresses. One for everyday and one for special occasions. But that was a long t
ime ago when the pioneers first came and….” Emily shivered ­again.

  Suddenly she gasped and stared at the girl. Could it be ­possible?

  At the same moment Emma tilted her head, watching Emily intently. Emily took a step backwards near the edge of the rock and nearly lost her balance. What on earth was going ­on?

  Chapter Two

  Emily lurched forward and grabbed Emma’s arm to keep herself from toppling off the rock. Stumbling ahead, she cried out in a voice shrill with panic, “I’m scared, Emma. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know where I am.”

  Emma gave Emily a soothing smile. “Calm yourself, lass.” She patted Emily’s shoulder reassuringly. “We’re in the middle of the Canadian prairies, about twenty miles south of Wolseley – at least, I think that’s how far away Father said.”

  Emily could feel herself turn cold and clammy even though the sun was warm. The screeching of a magpie in the distance competed with her clashing thoughts. She spun around, looking at the unfamiliar landscape again, and then back at ­Emma.

  “This can’t be south of Wolseley. I mean, not the way I know it. And you – you’re dressed like an early settler. But you can’t be…” Emily sputtered, her thoughts tumbling about wildly. “There’s got to be an explanation.”

  “Well, we are settling here in this wilderness. And this is a new country to us,” said Emma, smoothing her hands down her apron. “So I suppose that makes us settlers.”

  “New country? Wilderness? What do you mean?” Emily looked at the panorama of willows, water, and grasslands where tilled fields should have been. She turned again to Emma. “Where did you come from?”

  “I came with my family from Scotland. First we travelled by ship across the ocean.” Emma stretched out her arms. “It was so vast, and the trip….”

  Emily hardly heard the last part of Emma’s sentence. Her thoughts were whirring around in snippets here and there. If Emma really was from long ago and Emily had somehow slipped into the past with her…. But normal people didn’t just flip into another time the way they did in some television space show, did they? She had to find an ­explanation.