The Secret of Sentinel Rock Page 11

  “Really? My ­great-­grandparents?” Emily caught her breath and exhaled slowly, waiting for her aunt to confirm ­it.

  “Certainly. They’d be your grandmother Renfrew’s parents,” Aunt Maggie repeated, stopping after every word as if to emphasize each generation. She tapped her fingers slowly on the table top as she ­thought.

  “Wow.” If they were her ­great-­grandparents, then that meant Emma must be her ­great-­aunt. A sudden giddiness swept through Emily. “But where’s Grandma in the photo?”

  “She wasn’t even born when this picture was taken. They took this before they left Scotland. Your ­great-­grandmother was expecting your grandmother when they decided to emigrate.”

  “And she was born on the wagon trail here.” Emily interrupted, thoroughly excited ­now.

  “Why yes, Emily. She was.”

  “Wait a minute. I thought it was Molly that was born on the trail?” Emily tilted her head and looked at Aunt Maggie. She thought hard. Something didn’t ­fit.

  Aunt Maggie chuckled. “You’re partly right. Molly was what they called your grandmother when she was younger. But she was christened Mary. When she grew up, there was another Molly in the community, so she decided to switch back to Mary.”

  Kate looked at Emily with a puzzled expression on her face. “How did you know?”

  Emily realized her mistake. She took a breath and tried to calm herself. “Uh, I guess maybe Grandma told me about it or something.”

  “So, can you tell us who the others are?” Aunt Liz questioned. They all gathered in closer around Aunt ­Maggie.

  “I’m not sure I recognize everyone. When I knew them they were much older, of course. But let’s see.” Slowly Aunt Maggie pointed to the two ­youngest-­looking girls. “These would be Beth and Kate – Elizabeth, no, Elsbeth, and Katherine, really.” She turned to look at Emily’s mother. “You knew you were named for her didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did,” said Kate. “Mom always said I was headstrong and stubborn, just like Auntie Kate.”

  “She was right.” Aunt Liz stepped away as Kate tried to give her a playful ­swat.

  “Now, girls.” Aunt Maggie reprimanded them, then continued naming the faces in the photo. “These are probably Uncle Alex, and Auntie Bella. They were the oldest. I’m not sure of all the others.”

  “Uncle Alex – was he called Sandy?” Emily felt a faint smile tug at her ­mouth.

  “Why yes, I believe he was – when he was a boy.” Aunt Maggie turned back to pondering the photo, mumbling names to herself. “Some of them died young and some moved away. Uncle Jack was the one that died nine or ten years ago. You probably don’t remember him, do you Emily?”

  “Yeah, sort of. Is he the one with the big bushy eyebrows and long tickly white beard, that lived near Wolseley?”

  “Wow, you do have a memory, kiddo. You’d only have been about three when he died,” said Aunt ­Liz.

  Aunt Maggie raised her eyebrows at Emily. “And this was Uncle Duncan. He’s been gone for years. He left the farm and moved to Victoria after his wife Anne passed away.” She paused. “Now some of these middle children I’m not sure of.”

  Why was she so slow to recognize them? Emily couldn’t contain her excitement any longer. “That’s Geordie.” She pointed to him in the ­photo.

  “Well, I believe you’re right, Emily. How did you know?”

  “I suppose your grandmother mentioned him too?” asked Aunt Liz, coming to her ­rescue.

  “Yes, I guess so,” said Emily, relieved she didn’t have to provide an ­explanation.

  “And this must have been Emma. Such a tragedy, you know.” Aunt Maggie seemed unaware that Emily had sucked in her breath and was waiting for her to go on. “She survived a ‘flu epidemic while caring for the rest of the family. In fact, they say she saved Molly and her mother from death’s door. But she was so worn out, poor child, that when she caught pneumonia, she never recovered.”

  Emily turned to see both Kate and Aunt Liz looking at her with thoughtful expressions. She stood passively, listening to her ­aunt.

  “There wasn’t much that could be done in those days,” Aunt Maggie continued. “No doctors around. And they didn’t have the kinds of medication we have today. None of the rest of the family knew anything about plant medicines. What with the old Granny gone – that was George Senior’s mother, you know. She died in the epidemic, a month earlier. Even if they had known what plants to use, Emma was too ­run-­down. She wouldn’t have made it anyway.”

  “It’s too bad, really,” her aunt stared at her gnarled hands. “They say Emma could have made a wonderful doctor. She had this natural ability to recognize plants and know what they were good for.”

  Emily smiled at ­this.

  “Your grandmother used to say she could feel Emma around her like a guardian angel, teaching her all about nature’s ways.” Aunt Maggie twisted in her chair to look at Emily, and poked her in the side with her cane. “You know, young lady, your grandmother insisted you be named for Emma. As soon as you were born, she said she had the feeling you were a kindred spirit. Of course, your mother, stubborn as she is, wouldn’t give in entirely. She said Emma was too old fashioned. Emily was as close to Emma as she’d allow.”

  Emily felt warmed by this knowledge. Grandmother Renfrew had been special to her as well. As her aunt drifted into grumbling about her various medical problems, Emily walked over to the kitchen counter and stared out the window in a ­daze.

  “Em, are you all right?” Her mother came up behind ­her.

  “Yes. I was just thinking about what it must have been like for Grandma’s family…being pioneers.” She turned back to the table and picked the photo up again. Gently she caressed the picture with her fingertips. “So, this is the Elliott family then. And that’s Grandmother’s parents and brothers and sisters.”

  Kate placed a hand on Emily’s shoulder, just as Aunt Liz came up behind them. “That’s quite a story about Emma,” her aunt remarked. “I remember hearing something about her when I was a child.”

  “Yes,” agreed her mother. “And isn’t it strange that you just met someone named Emma too, Em?”

  Emily nodded and didn’t respond, hoping there would be no more questions. Instead she pictured Emma standing on the rock the first day she’d seen her with her apron and ­blue-­flowered dress blowing in the wind. All of a sudden Emily remembered Grandmother Renfrew’s quilt. “Mom, could I go get that quilt and show it to Aunt Maggie? You know, the first one Grandma made?”

  “Sure, Em. Do you need help getting it down?”

  “No, I can manage.” Emily was already on her way up the stairs. Now that she knew Emma’s family was really her grandmother Renfrew’s family, the coverlet had more meaning for ­her.

  When it was laid out on the table, Emily examined the different coloured patches of material a little more closely, trying to figure out which swatches belonged to what articles of clothing. The plaids and stripes were obviously from the men’s flannel shirts, and the plain and print calico bits from skirts and blouses. But what caught Emily’s interest were the flowered scraps that had originally been dresses. Somewhere in a hidden corner of her mind an idea popped forward. Yes. There it was. The swatch from Emma’s dress; a blue background with small pink flowers. The one Emma had always ­worn.

  Suddenly everything was coming together for Emily, and she needed to be alone to sort it all out. “Mom would you mind if I went up to the rock one more time?”

  Kate looked at her daughter, a softness about her eyes. “Sure, go ahead, Em. Say ­good-­bye to Emma.”

  Emily almost blurted out that Emma was already gone, but something told her that her mother ­knew.

  “What is this rock?” Aunt Maggie quizzed as Emily started towards the hallway for her ­jacket.

  Kate explained the place to her, and Emily stopped to ­listen.

  Aunt Maggie snorted. “That rock. Your Grand-mother spent more time out there…” she shook her head.
“I guess it was Emma’s favourite place, too. That’s why the area is still the way it was so long ago. No one wanted to disturb it. They sort of left it in memory of her.”

  “I’m glad they did. It’s my favourite place too,” Emily ­said.

  Her mother looked across the room at Emily. “Em, what were you saying about that rock the other day…?”

  Emily could feel the panic rising from her stomach. Oh, no. But then the kettle began whistling and Kate hurried to the stove. Emily made a beeline for the stairs. “I just have to run up to the attic for a minute.”

  “Would you mind putting the quilt back, Em, before you leave?” Kate called, busy pouring water into the teapot with her one good ­hand.

  “Okay.”

  When she returned the quilt, Emily headed to her attic room. She wanted to jot down the dates from Emma’s headstone before she forgot them. She’d bring everything else up to date ­later.

  In her hurry in reaching for her journal under the hidden ledge, Emily pushed the notebook farther back and felt it slide down the wall. Now how would she get it out? Sticking her hand into the gap, she dug deeper. Then her hand touched something soft and lumpy. Once over her initial fright, she tugged at the mound until it came ­loose.

  She gasped at the sight of Emma’s embroidered bag. Pulling the cords apart, she dumped the contents onto her lap. The stones! Quickly she counted them and found all ten there, including the one she’d used. She recognized its smooth oval ­shape.

  How incredible for her grandmother to have kept them all these years! But how had Emily’s special one come to be there? Had Geordie somehow realized it belonged in Emma’s pouch and returned it? Perhaps that was one mystery she’d never ­solve.

  Carefully Emily tucked the stones back into the bag and returned it to the hiding spot. There was no point in returning to the past now that Emma was gone. Jotting down the dates from the headstones in her retrieved notebook, she replaced it in the hidden wall space as well and trotted back down to the ­kitchen.

  As she passed the table, she grabbed a sandwich, but dropped it when Aunt Maggie tapped her ­hand.

  “Watch your manners, young lady,” she said as Emily felt her face turn hot with embarrassment. “Oh, go on. Take it, now that you’ve touched it.”

  Then Emily saw the twinkle in the older lady’s ­eyes.

  “I was young once too,” she observed with a wry ­smile.

  Emily snatched it up again and turned to the window at the sound of a vehicle driving into the yard. Gerald Ferguson stepped out of his ­half-­ton and sauntered over to the door. He never seemed to be in a ­hurry.

  “Good day,” he said, removing his cap and stepping inside when he found his knock answered immediately. “I’m glad to see you’re all here. I wanted to talk a little business.”

  He settled into a chair and sat silent for a few moments as if collecting his thoughts. Then in his slow, purposeful manner, he told them he’d been talking to the manager at the Credit Union the day before. “I thought about what you suggested, Kate,” he nodded at her, “and I talked it over with the wife – and if you people could hold off until fall, I’d like to buy the farm.”

  Emily widened her eyes and stared at her mother as Mr. Ferguson continued. A faint smile crossed Kate’s face, and Aunt Liz winked at Emily. When Emily started to say something to her mother, Kate held a finger up to her ­lips.

  Listening quietly, Emily felt relief flood through her. Although the aunts and Emily’s mother would have to check with the other family members who had inherited it jointly, they were sure this would be ­agreeable.

  Emily barely took note of the discussion that followed between her mother and aunts. But she did hear them mention something about saving a great deal in advertising and inconvenience, even though they would still go ahead with the auction. It seemed Gerald Ferguson didn’t need any of the ­equipment.

  Nor would he and his family take over the old stone house, because they’d just built a new one on their home place. Emily was ecstatic when he proposed that any time any of Mary Renfrew’s family wanted, they were welcome to come and stay at their old ­home.

  Emily would still be able to visit the farm and wander over the prairie to her favourite rock! She felt a smile break out on her face. She darted across the room to hug her mother. Kate smiled and hugged her back. Emily’s heart lightened as she bounced out the door and headed to the ­pasture.

  The sun streamed through wisps of clouds illuminating the meadow in brilliant colours. A scattering of crocuses still dotted the landscape amid hundreds of dandelions and the small white flowers of early field chickweed. As she strolled along her favourite grassy path, Emily tried imitating the songs of the ­red-­winged blackbirds and yellow warblers that flitted past her. She stopped often, wanting to remember every moment of this walk. She couldn’t believe her good fortune. Although she was devastated because Emma had died and there was no longer any reason to shift back to the past, Emily was thrilled that she’d still be able to visit the ­farm.

  Once she arrived at the rock, Emily stood back and gazed at its grandeur for a few moments. Carefully she scaled the back side and tiptoed across the top ledge. She sat, allowing her legs to dangle over the side, and felt the wind gently lift her hair. Then she closed her eyes until she felt an inner ­calm.

  Around her she sensed the warm presence of a smiling older woman and a laughing young girl, together for all time. And Emily knew that if the farm was gone for good some day, the memories and feelings she had experienced here were locked forever in her heart. And if she ever felt lonely or needed solace, all she had to do was return to her beloved ­prairie.

  Slipping back down, Emily hugged the rock one last time. Then she headed for home as a meadowlark sang its ­flute-­like tune nearby. And the wind sighed as if it too were saying good-­bye.

  About the Author

  Judith Silverthorne is the author of five previous books, including the sequel to this one, The Secret of the Stone House, which was a finalist for the Saskatchewan Book Award for Children’s Literature in 2005. The books in her Dinosaur series, Dinosaur Hideout, Dinosaur Breakout, and Dinosaur Steakout, have also been listed for several awards.

  Judith Silverthorne works as a writer, film producer, and cultural administrator in Regina. For more information on Judith and her work, consult her Web site at: www.judithsilverthorne.ca.

  Coteau Books began to develop the From Many Peoples series of novels for young readers over a year ago, as a celebration of Saskatchewan’s Centennial. We looked for stories that would illuminate life in the province from the viewpoints of young people from different cultural groups and we’re delighted with the stories we found.

  We’re especially happy with the unique partnership we have been able to form with the LaVonne Black Memorial Fund in support of From Many Peoples. The Fund was looking for projects it could support to honour a woman who had a strong interest in children and their education, and decided that the series was a good choice. With their help, we are able to provide free books to every school in the province, tour the authors across the province, and develop additional materials to support schools in using From Many Peoples titles.

  This partnership will bring terrific stories to young readers all over Saskatchewan, honour LaVonne Black and her dedication to the children of this province, and help us celebrate Saskatchewan’s Centennial. Thank you to everyone involved.

  Nik Burton

  Managing Editor, Coteau Books

  Lavonne Black

  My sister LaVonne was born in Oxbow, Saskatchewan, and grew up on a small ranch near Northgate. She spent a lot of time riding horses and always had a dog or a cat in her life. LaVonne’s favourite holiday was Christmas. She loved to sing carols and spoil children with gifts. People were of genuine interest to her. She didn’t care what you did for a living, or how much money you made. What she did care about was learning as much about you as she could in the time she had with you.

 
We are proud of our LaVonne, a farm girl who started school in a one-room schoolhouse and later presented a case to the Supreme Court of Canada. Her work took her all over Saskatchewan, and she once said that she didn’t know why some people felt they had to go other places, because there is so much beauty here. LaVonne’s love and wisdom will always be with me. She taught me that what you give of yourself will be returned to you, and that you should love, play, and live with all your heart.

  LaVonne felt very strongly about reading and education, and the LaVonne Black Memorial Fund and her family hope that you enjoy this series of books.

  Trevor L. Black, little brother

  Chair, LaVonne Black Memorial Fund

  LaVonne Black was a tireless advocate for children in her years with the Saskatchewan School Boards Associa-tion. Her dedication, passion, and commitment were best summed up in a letter she wrote to boards of education one month before her death, when she announced her decision to retire:

  “I thank the Association for providing me with twenty-three years of work and people that I loved. I was blessed to have all that amid an organization with a mission and values in which I believed. School trustees and the administrators who work for them are special people in their commitment, their integrity, and their caring. I was truly blessed and am extremely grateful for the opportunities and experiences I was given.”

  LaVonne was killed in a car accident on July 19, 2003. She is survived by her daughter, Jasmine, and her fiancé, Richard. We want so much to thank her for all she gave us. Our support for this book series, From Many Peoples, is one way to do this. Thank you to everyone who has donated to her Memorial Fund and made this project possible.

  Executive, Staff, and member boards of

  The Saskatchewan School Boards Association