The Secret of Sentinel Rock Page 10

  Kate turned to Emily in surprise. “But I do, Em. Maybe only in small doses, but I do like to visit the farm once in awhile.” Kate seemed to mull Emily’s question over. “I guess because I grew up here, I kind of take it for granted. It’s just not as special to me as it is for you.”

  “I suppose.” Emily wasn’t sure she understood her mother’s ­reasoning.

  “I guess there wasn’t much of a future here for me. Then when I went away to the city to university and met your father, I knew there was no coming back.”

  “But don’t you feel special when you’re out here?” Emily took a deep breath and swung around with her arms outstretched. “This is so wonderful. I could stay here forever.”

  A strange look of wistfulness came over Kate’s face as she watched Emily spin around. “I wish I felt the same way about the prairies as you do. But I just don’t.” Kate patted Emily’s hand. “You know, you’re very much like your Grandmother Renfrew in that way. It’s kind of scary. The two of you seemed to have some special understanding that the rest of us never did.” Kate shook her head in ­bewilderment.

  With rising hope, Emily asked again if there was any chance they could keep the ­farm.

  “I really don’t see how, Em.” Kate looked really sorry for the decision. “If there was a way, we’d have thought of it.”

  Although terribly disappointed, by now Emily was beginning to accept losing the farm. She figured if Emma’s granny and the rest of her family could pull up their roots from Scotland and settle in a new country, she’d somehow have to come to terms with not being able to visit her grandparents’ farm any ­more.

  Mother and daughter strolled companionably back to the house, discussing their return to Regina on Sunday night. Emily was excited about seeing Courtney and Samantha again and everyone at school, but distressed at leaving Emma behind. She had only tomorrow to spend with ­her.

  Aunt Liz was back from town when they returned. If she was surprised when Kate and Emily entered the house rosy and animated from their walk, she said nothing. She just gave Emily the “thumbs up” signal when Kate had her back turned. And Emily ­grinned.

  •••

  An early light supper left plenty of time for Emily to make a quick trip back to Emma’s, now that the evenings were getting longer. Her mother agreed, on the condition that she be home before dark. Emily was surprised by her mother’s assent, but Kate had remembered hearing about some new people on a nearby farm, and assumed this was where Emily was ­headed.

  Emily reached the rock in record time, but found herself in a brisk wind pelted with rain when she grabbed the stone. Although she had only her sneakers on her feet, she was thankful she’d dressed warmly in a thick sweater and a ­jacket.

  Pulling the hood over her head, she tucked her chin to her chest and ran through the trees to Emma’s sod house. Once there, she noticed the flicker of a candle burning through the shutters of the window, and figured the family would be inside during the storm. Most of the family appeared to be present when she peeked inside, except for Emma’s father and two of her older ­brothers.

  Mrs. Elliott’s back was to Emily. She was darning socks by the window as she rocked Molly in the cradle. When she turned her head, Emily could see lines of concern and apprehension etched on her face. The other family members seemed to be gathered around the table quietly playing cards. At times Bella or Beth checked on a lone figure lying on one of the cots. It took Emily a few moments to realize it had to be ­Emma.

  What could be wrong with her? Emily had to have a closer look. She wiped the trickles of rain off her face, and in desperation tried to think of a way to get into the house without arousing any undue ­attention.

  Just then Emma’s father and brothers emerged from the sod barn. Buffeted by the wind, they ran across the yard. The sky lit up with lightning as they neared the woodpile, where they each gathered an armload of firewood. When they reached the house and yanked open the door, Emily was right beside them. She slipped inside when a heavy gust of wind grabbed the door from Duncan’s hand. By the time he slammed it shut, she’d moved to Emma’s ­bedside.

  Her friend lay quiet and pale like a fragile porcelain doll, with her long sandy hair in matted strands on her pillow. She opened her eyes when a spasm of coughing overtook her, and for an instant she seemed to recognize ­Emily.

  “Oh, my God. Emma, what’s happened to you?” Emily whispered urgently over the clunking of wood being thrown into the wood box. She reached out and swept her hand across the girl’s forehead. Emma was hot to the touch. Her breathing was strained and irregular. Emily knew she had to do something, but ­what?

  Then Emma’s mother rushed to her side and Emily stepped out of the way. She watched as Mrs. Elliott removed a cloth from the girl’s chest and replaced it with another. From the acrid smell, Emily thought it must be one of the mixtures she’d taught them to make. She was pleased by this, but wondered what else were they doing for her ­friend.

  A moment later Bella arrived by the bedside and tried to get Emma to swallow a mouthful of some tonic, but the movement of raising her head brought on an even worse spasm of coughing. As Bella laid Emma’s head down on the pillow, Emma’s father ­approached.

  “How is the lass?”

  “No change,” his wife replied, and shook her head sadly. Gently Mr. Elliott clasped his calloused hand on Emma’s shoulder, then bowed his head and moved away. Her mother pulled the covers back up to her chin and with a forlorn sigh returned to her rocking chair by the window. Bella sat for a moment at the edge of the cot, staring down at ­Emma.

  Maybe Bella can hear me, thought Emily moving closer. She called quietly at first, but when there was no answer she shouted. No one responded, except Molly, who began whimpering. In frustration, Emily yelled as loud as she could. This caused Molly to scream. While pandemonium broke out over the baby’s sudden shrieking, Emily sagged against the wall and slid to the floor. She wept quietly. She could hear the howl of the wind outside, and the drumming of the rain as it lashed against the ­shutter.

  Fear and despair clutched at Emily. Molly was the only one who could hear her, and she couldn’t communicate. Emma wasn’t responding at all. A coldness crept through her body, and Emily knew it was not from being drenched and chilled in the thunderstorm. The house was exceptionally warm with all the people inside and the roaring fire from the cookstove. But Emily couldn’t keep her teeth from chattering. She had never been so ­scared.

  Suddenly Geordie volunteered to venture outside for some more medicinal plants. They were running low. “Maybe they’ll help Emma,” he suggested in a low ­voice.

  Emily applauded from across the room. Yes. Maybe Geordie’s plan would be the turning point. She stepped towards him, then halted when his mother rose from her ­seat.

  “You can’t go out in this, lad.”

  “Let him go, Margaret.” Emma’s father drew her back. “The thunder and lightning have stopped. He’ll only get wet.”

  Emily could tell he thought it was a good idea for the boy to have something to do. Geordie had been the closest in age to Emma, but close in other ways too – even though he’d always teased her. As Geordie dressed for the outdoors, Emily went once more to Emma’s ­bedside.

  Gently she brushed the girl’s hair from her forehead. “Everything will be all right, Emma. It just has to be.” Then she bent and kissed her on the cheek. ­“Good-­bye, dear friend.” She turned and followed Geordie out the door. In her heart Emily knew there was nothing she could ­do.

  A blast of wind took Emily’s breath away as she stepped outside. The rain was coming down in torrents, and she was soaked by the time she reached the rock. She replaced the stone quickly, relieved to find the evening dry in her own ­world.

  •••

  “That was certainly taking your curfew to the limit, Emily,” her mother said when she returned. “And how on earth did your hair get wet? And your clothes?”

  “Aw, we were having a water fight.�
�� Emily said the first thing that came into her mind. She was so upset about Emma she wasn’t thinking ­clearly.

  “Well, that wasn’t a very smart thing to do. It’s not that warm out there. Honestly, Em, I wonder where your common sense is sometimes.” Kate shook her head in dismay. “Run up and have a hot bath. Then I’ll make you some hot chocolate. Do you want it in your room, or do you want to come down for it?”

  “Upstairs, please. And thanks, Mom.” Emily gave Kate a smile, then plodded up the stairs. Her body felt like an icicle, and she had trouble lifting her feet. It was as if her ankles had huge stones tied to them. All she could think about was Emma. Emily prayed that her friend would be all ­right.

  Chapter Ten

  Wearily Emily reached for her clothes the next morning, and found them still damp from the previous night. Tossing them aside, she grabbed some clean ones from her suitcase, and staggered into them. Then, as quietly as she could, she crept down the stairs. She had to see how Emma was, no matter ­what.

  Aunt Liz was already sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book and sipping coffee. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she said when she caught sight of Emily in the doorway. “You look like you had a tough night, kiddo.”

  “Yeah, kinda,” Emily answered, trying to think of a way of getting out of the house without too much fuss. The straightforward approach worked before, she decided. She’d use it again. “I guess I’m worried about Emma. She wasn’t feeling too well last night. I thought I’d go and see how she was today. And we’ll be leaving tonight. I may not see her again for a long time.”

  With a shrug of her shoulders, Aunt Liz said, “Sounds good enough for me. Sure, go ahead, Em. I’ll tell your mom you’ll be back soon. And you will be, right?”

  “Yes, I promise.” Emily gave her aunt a hug. “Thanks.”

  Stumbling across the pasture, Emily hardly noticed the bright turquoise sky above her. Her legs felt like wood, and the grassy hummocks beneath her clumsy feet felt more rugged than usual. It seemed to take her forever to reach the ­rock.

  Shivering when she arrived, Emily reached into the crevice for the stone. But she couldn’t feel it. She delved deeper, her fingers clawing at the inside of the crack. But she found only bits of sand. In a panic she scrambled up the face of the rock and peered into the crevice. The stone wasn’t ­there.

  Oh, ­no.

  Emily dropped to the ground. Where could it be? Maybe she hadn’t put the stone back properly the night before. Or maybe the torrents of rain had washed it out. She searched the ground. Nothing. Frantically she fell to her knees and crawled about, patting the area. In a wider arc she probed and scraped the surface with her hands, examining the same places over and over again. She didn’t miss an ­inch.

  Almost hysterical now, Emily examined the side of the rock as she climbed. She checked all the cavities where the stone could possibly fit. Then she crawled on top of the slab and felt around the flat surface, even though she could see it wasn’t there. At last she sat back and rocked on her heels. The stone was gone. Tears streamed down her face. “Emma,” she wailed. “Emma.”

  A few moments later she reeled back to her feet and slid down to the ground. She began jogging over the terrain where the bluff of poplars and the path to Emma’s sod house had been a hundred years earlier. They were all gone. Yet Emily kept running, trying to imagine where the Elliotts’ yard had been. She couldn’t really tell; the land had changed so much since then. But perhaps the three mounds, one smaller than the others, in a flat area where she stopped had been the house, the barn, and the root ­cellar.

  “Emma, where are you?” She called again and again as she whirled about in panic and disbelief. Finally she stood in silence, her head bowed. There was no joy at seeing the wildflowers at her feet or hearing the birds twittering overhead in the sunlight. She drew no comfort from the wind. Now she was locked out of Emma’s world ­forever.

  •••

  Although she trudged home some time later, she didn’t recall getting there. She was too numb. Nor did Emily know how she made it through the rest of the morning or notice the worried glances exchanged between her mother and aunt. They left her alone in her attic room with her unexplained ­sorrow.

  Emily threw herself across her bed. What had become of Emma? Would she ever know? Emma had been so sick the last time she saw her. Surely she’d recovered. Emily fell into a fitful state halfway between sleep and waking, and dreamt of ­Emma.

  Emma as she’d seen her the first time on the rock, and later exhausted as she cared for her family. Emma picking mushrooms in the meadow, being chased by Geordie, and playing with Molly. Emma as she hugged Emily ­good-­bye, and then discovered Geordie hiding. Emma lying ill, and Geordie going out for plants in the rain. Emma and Geordie…Geordie. His name echoed in Emily’s ­head.

  She sat up with a jolt. Geordie must have taken the stone! It made sense. He was always lurking around whenever they were at the rock. And that day when she’d seen the movement in the trees, it must have been Geordie. He must have gone back to the rock since the last time Emily had been there, and found the smooth stone. “Oh Geordie,” she moaned. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”

  “Emily, are you okay?” Her mother called from the bottom of the attic ­stairs.

  ­“Y-­yes.” Emily jumped off the bed and moved to the window, hiding her face. But Kate didn’t come up. “Aunt Maggie’s here,” she continued. “She wants to go to the cemetery right away and put some flowers on Grandma’s grave. Do you want to come with us?”

  “Yeah.” Emily sniffled. She hadn’t heard Aunt Maggie arrive, but sitting in her room moping wouldn’t help her slip back in time to find Emma. She might as well go. At least she’d probably feel closer to her grandmother. “I’ll be right down.”

  With a sudden glimmer of excitement, she realized Aunt Maggie would be able to answer her questions about their family background. If she didn’t know, no one would. Emily took the stairs two at a time, stopping in the bathroom to wash her face and tie back her ­hair.

  When they arrived at the cemetery a short time later, she tumbled out of the car ahead of the others. But then she held back. It might be more fitting to allow the others to go first. Aunt Maggie at ­seventy-­two was the oldest of Grandma Renfrew’s family, and she walked slowly on arthritic legs, using a cane for support. Emily had plenty of time to read the other headstones as they strolled along in the peaceful shade of the towering spruce. The trees had been planted around the cemetery years before. She saw some familiar names like Ferguson and Barkley, and Aunt Maggie’s husband, Joseph Henderson, who had died many years before. At last they came to the Renfrew family ­plots.

  Emily stood silently with her mother and Aunt Liz as Aunt Maggie placed the lilies by her grandparents’ monument. Then she wandered off, not wanting to stand by the new mound of earth. Her grandmother’s body lay there, but not her spirit. Instead, she ambled along the grassy paths as the others chatted ­quietly.

  She examined the engravings on the headstones, discovering earlier and earlier dates. She felt herself drawn to the oldest section in a far corner of the graveyard. Here the inscriptions were more difficult to read on the weathered white stones, and some markers had fallen ­over.

  As she paced slowly between the gravesites, studying each of them, a strange feeling of anticipation came over her. Then she found what she knew would be there: a row of Elliott family crosses. They stretched in an irregular line along the back of the cemetery. Apprehensively, she read the ­names.

  At the very outside edge she found Granny Elliott’s modest tombstone. Emily fell to her knees, shivering. Right beside it, she discovered a smaller one. She pushed aside the wild rose bushes that almost obscured the dates and read: Emma, Beloved Daughter of George and Margaret Elliott, 5 May 1887 - 27 September ­1899.

  Reaching out a shaky hand, Emily fingered the etchings on the headstone and whispered a silent prayer for her long gone friend. In her heart she’d know
n Emma had not survived the terrible illness. Rising and stepping away, she headed to the line of spruce trees and crawled through the fence that enclosed the cemetery. She stood breathing deeply in the warm spring sun, staring across the ­landscape.

  She was not surprised to find that she could see the outcrop of rocks on her grandparents’ farm in the distance. She knew now she was standing on the outer edge of what had been the Elliotts’ property. In silence she walked back to the car where the others waited for ­her.

  Emily felt they’d obviously been talking about her, because they fell silent when she approached. She couldn’t bring herself to speak. Instead, she stared out the window at the blur of scenery that streaked past in swirls of dust as they drove along the gravel ­roads.

  When they returned to the house, Emily shot up the stairs for the old family photograph hidden under her window ledge. She needed to find out about the people in it. Aunt Maggie was the only one who could make any connections at ­all.

  Her mother and Aunt Liz were preparing coffee, but they stopped short when Emily thrust the photograph into her aunt’s hand. All thoughts of a snack were forgotten when Aunt Maggie exclaimed in surprise at the ­print.

  “Goodness, Emily. Where on earth did you come across this?”

  Quickly she explained about finding the glass negatives in the attic and her mother getting the print made. “Do you know who they are?” Emily held her breath. She could hear the clock ticking as she waited for her aunt to ­answer.

  “Well….” Aunt Maggie studied the photograph. “These are your relatives on your grandmother’s side – the Elliotts.”

  So she’d been right. Her grandmother and Emma had been related. But how? “Who are they?” Emily pumped, hardly able to contain her eagerness. She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table by her ­aunt.

  “Well, this is George Elliott Senior and his wife, Margaret,” Aunt Maggie said pointing to the older couple. “They’d be your ­great-­grandparents.”