The Secret of Sentinel Rock Page 2

  “Okay, so you came from Scotland.” Emily startled the other girl by her abrupt interruption. “But when did you come?”

  “Well, we’ve been camped in this area about a month now. But it took us a long time to get here,” said Emma, looking ­puzzled.

  Emily decided to let Emma explain her situation. Maybe there’d be some clues to help them piece these strange occurrences together. She shuffled uneasily on her side of the ledge, glancing anxiously from time to time towards the spot where her grandmother’s house ought to ­be.

  In her musical voice Emma spoke of how she’d journeyed with her family from the highlands of Scotland. They’d crossed the Atlantic Ocean on a huge ship with hundreds of people squashed on board like cattle in small compartments. Allowed only a few possessions each, they’d taken the barest of necessities, a few blankets and pots and clothes in a trunk. They planned to buy whatever else they needed when they ­arrived.

  “We were on the boat for almost two weeks. I was the only one of my family that wasn’t seasick.” Emma stood a little taller and tossed her braids behind her ­shoulders.

  By now Emily was almost totally convinced Emma really was from the past, or at least that Emma herself sincerely believed she was, because of the particular way she was dressed and because she seemed so confident in relating the details of her life. And something told Emily that Emma was telling her story truthfully. Some of the details of her travels across the ocean seemed too vivid and real to be made ­up.

  Emily listened hard as Emma explained about being on a crowded train for three days, before stopping in Winnipeg. There they’d camped for several more days in a huge tented area of the city while her father chose a homestead site from a map, and bought tools, some cows, oxen, and wagons. They’d also purchased large quantities of nonperishable food supplies. They knew they wouldn’t be near a store for quite a long time, especially while they ­travelled.

  “It took us another two weeks to get here. The weather was bad, so much snow and rain. Travelling over those rutty trails by oxcart was hard and slow.”

  “Oxen? Wagon?” Emily felt her knees go weak. In a barely audible voice, she asked. “What year is it according to you?”

  “1899, of course.”

  “Wow. That’s when lots of settlers started coming to Saskatchewan,” said Emily, recalling her grade six studies about ­pioneers.

  ­“Sask-­at-­chew-­on?” said Emma. “What’s that word? What are you saying?” She scrunched up her face. “We’re in the ­North-­West Territories.”

  “That proves it. This is the province of Saskatchewan. It has been since 1905.” Emily stared hard at Emma. “This is just too weird. I mean, here you are back in 1899, and somehow I’m with you.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, ‘since 1905.’” Emma truly looked alarmed. “What year is it for you?”

  Emily sighed shakily. “Well, just a short while ago I was at my grandmother’s house after her funeral and it was 1996. Now you say it’s 1899, and by the looks of everything I think you must be right. But how could that have happened?”

  Emma stood silently. She seemed to be digesting what Emily had just said. Emily shifted her weight to her other foot, unconsciously twining her fingers through her hair as she gazed about the countryside. She found it incredibly hard to believe. But she was still surrounded by the same untamed prairie scene which had greeted her when she’d first met Emma on the ­rock.

  The willow bushes along the banks of a meandering stream were more plentiful than she’d ever seen before, and there was no sign of cultivation or habitation anywhere. Prairie grass blew unhindered on an empty rise where her grandmother’s house had stood, and there was a single long ­two-­track trail that stretched across the landscape instead of the crisscross of gravel ­roads.

  “It is peculiar,” said Emma, breaking the silence. “You do not seem to belong anywhere that I know of. And your clothing and speech are very different. Are you sure you have not had some accident, lass?”

  “I’m positive.” Emily felt more confident now that she’d begun to figure things out. The thought of trying to explain this incident to her mother even brought the briefest of smiles to her face. What would she think when Emily told her she’d gone back into the past? Emily’s smile vanished as she considered her situation. How had she come here? Even more important, how would she get back to her own time? Would she ever see her mother or father ­again?

  Emma shifted uncomfortably on the other side of the rock. Her face was deep in ­concentration.

  “Now what happens? What should I do?” Emily asked out loud, in a sudden burst of concern. The hollowness in her stomach was filling with dread. She could be stuck forever in the past! Calm down, she told herself. She took several deep breaths, then carefully thought through her actions from the time she’d left her grandmother’s house. There was no doubt about it, everything had been normal. Until she climbed on top of the rock and found Emma ­there.

  Emma cleared her throat as if she was about to say something, then seemed to change her mind. She thrust her hands into her apron ­pockets.

  “This is all so confusing,” Emily said. She stood up, noticing a meadowlark flitting across the darkening sky. She must have been gone for a couple of hours. The sun was much lower on the horizon. She really had to be getting home. But how? Her parents would be worried. “How am I going to get back?”

  “I’m not sure.” Emma was obviously bewildered by the sequence of events. “Maybe it has something to do with the rock.” She stamped her right foot down a couple of times on the hard surface. “Every time I come here I feel like something unusual is about to happen. It’s always been a good feeling, though.”

  “Yeah, this rock is special to me, too,” agreed Emily. “Maybe it has something to do with our being here together. But how do you suppose I can get home?”

  Before Emma could make a suggestion, they heard a voice behind ­them.

  ­“Em-­ma. ­Em-­ma. Where are you?”

  Emma looked over her shoulder towards the bush several yards behind the ­rock.

  “That’s wee Geordie – my brother – come to fetch me. I’d better run. Mum will be needing help with supper and the younger ones.” Emma shifted herself over the edge and down the side of the rock. Emily could hear the scraping of shoes on the hard exterior and the clatter of bits of gravel falling to the ground as Emma manoeuvred down the rock. The girl seemed anxious to be going home, and perhaps to be leaving Emily ­too.

  A few yards beyond the rock Emily could see what looked like a narrow animal trail twisting through the scrubby poplar trees. Right at that moment a young boy in short tan pants emerged from the clump of trees. His red curly hair seemed to stick out in all directions, giving him a wild look, but a friendly lopsided grin spread across his face when he caught sight of his sister, just dropping to the ­ground.

  “Wait!” yelled Emily, as Emma scampered down the path. “How will I get back home?”

  “Try getting off the rock,” Emma shouted as she ran. “If it doesn’t work, come join us. Just follow the path.”

  Emily could hear a small voice asking Emma who she was talking to. She knew the boy hadn’t seen her when she heard Emma reply, “Just the wind, Geordie.” Then the voices died ­away.

  As fast as she dared, Emily headed over to the back side of the rock. Inching to the edge, she eased herself over, feeling for footholds. It was hard to see in the quickly failing light. She felt a momentary twinge of anger at being left by herself. Emma didn’t have to worry, thought Emily. She was already home. Then Emily calmed down as she realized the problem wasn’t Emma’s. It was hers. She just hoped she wouldn’t need to find Emma’s place in the ­dark.

  She struggled to find the crevices, and her feet dangled in midair at times. From somewhere inside her head Emily could hear the echo of her own raspy breathing as she scraped along the rough surface of the rock. The rustling of her clothes seemed loud in contrast to the muted croaking of fr
ogs somewhere in the ­valley.

  Emily looked around in bewilderment as she descended, and shivered. It was eerie being all alone at the rock at this time of day. The air felt chilly now that the sun was sinking. She flinched at the sudden sound of water splashing in the creek nearby. What was that? Then her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for several ­hours.

  Her mother was probably frantic with worry. She’d been gone so long. What if she was trapped in the past forever? Emily didn’t even want to think about that possibility. But maybe she wouldn’t have to. Was Emma right? Would she get back home by getting off the ­rock?

  Emily scraped her knee on the rough surface and cried out as much from fear at her predicament as from the pain. She felt herself sliding. She knew there was a lengthy drop the last few feet to the bottom of the rock, but she’d lost track of how far she’d already descended. All at once her feet touched something firm. A great sigh of relief escaped her when she realized she’d reached the ground. She hugged the rock, afraid to leave its solidness, afraid to know what lay ­ahead.

  Tentatively she backed away, then circled towards the face of the rock. As she stepped to the front, the sky brightened. Emily was startled to see that now the sun was only beginning to touch the horizon just beyond her grandmother’s house. She whooped with delight and set off at a sprint across the ­meadow.

  •••

  Away in the distance she could see her mother walking towards her across the yard. Relief flooded her. Then Emily realized all the vehicles were gone, except for her aunt Liz’s sedan. Even her father’s van was missing. She knew she was probably in deep trouble for her lengthy absence. Maybe her father was even out looking for her. She quickened her pace when she saw her mother waiting for her at the pasture ­gate.

  “Mom, Mom,” she called as she drew closer. Her breath came in ragged gulps. “I’ve just had the strangest experience.”

  Her mother appeared not to have heard ­her.

  “I thought you were supposed to be resting. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I came outside and saw you way up there by those rocks. Whatever were you doing?” Kate asked, unhooking the gate as Emily ­approached.

  “I went for a walk to get some fresh air. It was so stuffy. I just couldn’t stand it inside,” said Emily, still breathing hard. “So I went up to the rock. You know, where Grandma and I always go – used to go. But then I had this bizarre thing happen.”

  “You’re all right? You’re not hurt?” Kate asked, looking Emily up and ­down.

  Emily joined her mother on the other side of the fence. “No. I’m okay. But I want to tell you what happened when I got there. There was this girl already on the rock. Her name was Emma. But she was dressed kind of funny.” Emily paused to catch her breath while she searched for the right words. “Mom, what would you say if I told you I’d just gone back into the past?”

  “Oh, Emily. You and your imagination,” said her mother with a heavy sigh as they started walking towards the house. “That’s the wildest one yet.” She stopped and turned to Emily. “You don’t need to make up stories, you know. I can understand how you wanted to get out of the house. But you just should have told us you were going.”

  “But it’s true,” persisted Emily, trembling in ­indignation.

  “Don’t keep on, Emily Marie,” her mother warned. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired. Now come into the house. We could sure use a hand to clear the last of the lunch dishes away and get some supper started.”

  Offended by her mother’s response, Emily stopped short and crossed her arms over her chest in silent refusal as her mother disappeared into the porch. The more she thought about it though, the more she realized how difficult it would be for her mother to understand what had just happened. Her mother didn’t believe in anything she considered “fanciful,” and going into the past certainly qualified in that ­regard.

  In fact, Emily was having trouble herself coming to terms with what she’d just gone through. Now that she was safely back it didn’t seem quite real somehow. Maybe her mind had been playing tricks on her. She hadn’t slept well the last few nights and she was overtired. Could she have imagined the whole ­thing?

  Slowly she uncrossed her arms and walked into the house, opening the back door that led into the kitchen. All was quiet, except for a floor creaking and the faint muffle of voices somewhere overhead. She hadn’t realized she’d stood outside so ­long.

  “Mom? Mom, where are you?” Emily crossed the kitchen and yelled from the foot of the stairs. “Aunt Liz?”

  Her mother poked her head out of a second floor doorway. “We’ll be right down, Emily. We just have to find something. You can start supper.”

  Emily didn’t need to be told a second time. She was hungry. Yanking open the fridge, she grabbed a casserole that one of the neighbours had brought soon after her grandmother died. She felt a pang in her chest at the reminder of her Grandmother Renfrew’s death. She popped the macaroni and hamburger casserole into the oven and then plopped a wooden trivet on the oak table top. How she wished she could discuss today’s strange occurrence with her Granny ­Renfrew.

  A while later Kate and Liz appeared, dishevelled and dusty. They’d been digging in a back closet, looking for a box of special papers. As Aunt Liz sank with a sigh into a kitchen chair, she suddenly seemed old to Emily. But then she was over sixty, and she was undoubtedly exhausted after the ordeal of the last few days. As she sagged into the chair, she closed her eyes and laid her head ­back.

  Emily’s mother, too, looked tired around the eyes, but being ten years younger than Aunt Liz and the “unexpected baby” of the family, she still seemed to have plenty of energy. As Kate entered the room, she scanned the scene and deftly retrieved the casserole from the oven, plunking it into the middle of the table, while Emily finished placing the napkins by the ­plates.

  As the three of them sat down to supper, Emily discovered that her dad had gone to drive her oldest aunt home and wouldn’t return until later in the evening, and that Aunt Liz would be going to stay with some friends for the ­night.

  Vaguely aware of the conversation going on around her, Emily forked food into her mouth and shuddered. How horrible if she’d been stuck in the past right now, instead of eating a nice hot meal with her mom and aunt. She glanced out the low kitchen window and saw the sun was just now dipping into rosy hues at the horizon. If her adventure this afternoon had been real, there must be some kind of time warp in Emma’s time – like something she’d seen on Star Trek. Would Emma’s family be eating now too? They probably didn’t have many kinds of ­foods.

  “Slow down, Emily,” laughed her mother. “You’d think you hadn’t eaten in days.”

  “Sorry, Mom. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” Emily popped the last bite into her mouth and laid her fork beside her empty plate. She eyed the dessert platter across the table filled with cakes, squares, and tarts, all leftovers from the funeral. Her stomach had been too knotted up to eat much over those first few days, but she could certainly appreciate the baking ­now.

  Aunt Liz saw her inspecting the plate of sweets and passed them to her. Emily selected a couple of ­brownies.

  “Thanks, Aunt Liz. These are delicious.”

  “Agnes Barkley made them,” said Kate. “She always was one of the best bakers around.”

  Aunt Liz wrinkled her nose and smiled. “One of the best gossips too.”

  “Now, Liz. Let’s not start gossiping about her. She has a big kind heart.”

  “Yeah, to go with her huge body.” Aunt Liz stretched her hands apart in exaggeration of Mrs. Barkley’s width and ­laughed.

  “Liz, stop that. We have to set an example for Emily.” As Kate admonished her sister, her face crinkled in ­mirth.

  Emily giggled, recalling Mrs. Barkley’s portly frame. She always wore dresses with enormous flowers printed all over them. She wheezed as she walked, and snorted with loud laughter at her own raucous ­jokes.

  Kate an
d Liz’s talk switched to other members of the community, and Emily thought again of her afternoon with Emma. Although she’d been scared about being stuck in the past, she was curious to learn more about her experience. Had it been real? There was only one way to find out. First thing tomorrow she’d try to find Emma ­again.

  Chapter Three

  Emily stretched and yawned, slowly opening her eyes. Through her open window she glimpsed patches of morning sky each time a breeze fluttered the lacy curtains. She could hear the distant cawing of crows, while nearby a robin sang from somewhere in the tall caragana ­hedge.

  “Emily, are you awake yet?” her mother called from down ­below.

  “I’ll be right there,” she shouted back. Emily knew she’d better get up soon, or her mother would come up to roust her out. And Kate would be growly if she had to climb the two flights of stairs to the attic bedroom just to hustle Emily ­along.

  Suddenly remembering her encounter with Emma from the day before, Emily threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. Crawling onto the broad window ledge, she peered across the meadow towards the outcropping of rocks. She couldn’t see any sign of the other girl, but then realized she probably wouldn’t from here. She’d have to go to the rock and somehow find a way to slip into the past again. The idea half scared, half excited her, spurring her into a frenzy of activity. Would she be able to find Emma today? Or had she just imagined everything the day ­before?

  Emily yanked on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt she’d left draped over the trunk at the foot of her bed. Then she raced downstairs into the kitchen where her mother was busy buttering ­toast.

  When Emily detected only the faint lingering aroma of coffee, she knew her mother had been up for ages. Her dark hair, flecked with grey, was tied back, although little wisps had escaped, and she was wearing her ­“let’s-­get-­the-­job-­done-­right-­now” sweatsuit. The kitchen was glistening and ­tidy.