The Secret of Sentinel Rock Page 7

“Thank you,” Emily replied. She could feel a happy glow on her face as she stood for a few moments watching Emma disappear through the trees. Now she knew what was meant in Anne of Green Gables about kindred ­spirits.

  Suddenly Emily realized how incredibly late she must be. Just before she popped the special stone in its hiding place, she thought she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. But she quickly dismissed it and sped for home. And not until she was turning the knob on the porch door, did she realize she’d forgotten to ask Emma her last ­name.

  Chapter ­Seven

  “Young lady, where have you been? You were gone for hours,” Kate demanded, when she caught sight of Emily sneaking into the kitchen. “And just look at you – you’re soaked.”

  “I sort of lost track of the time,” said Emily, staring at her soggy sneakers and jeans. “I was visiting with Emma.”

  “What else were you doing?” Her mother placed her hands on her hips. “Both Gerald Ferguson and Mrs. Barkley say they saw you cross the pasture and go to the rocks. But then they said you just disappeared, and for the longest time.”

  Emily looked at her mother through the hair that had fallen over her eyes and saw her mouth tighten. “Well…uh…I was with Emma. But I guess they just didn’t see us,” she suggested, thoughts tumbling through her head at record speed. Of course, they couldn’t have seen her or Emma. But her mother would never believe her if she told the entire truth. How was she going to ­explain?

  “No, they definitely did not see anyone with you, Emily Marie,” said her mother with a stern look on her face. “Mr. Ferguson was out in the west field where he had a good view of the spot, too.”

  Oh, oh, thought Emily. Now what could she ­say?

  “Gerald Ferguson phoned to tell me he’d be picking us up for town at one o’clock. Then he mentioned seeing you, and how you disappeared. I didn’t know what to think.”

  “I did meet Emma,” Emily insisted. At least that part was true. “Then I – I guess we were imagining what it must have been like in the old days. You know, when the pioneers first came here,” she said, hoping her mother would fall for her story. It was partially true. “We were pretending to look for berries and things.”

  “You’re not going to try and tell me some silly story about time travelling again, are you?”

  Emily shook her head. There was no way she was going to tell her mother anything about her experiences with Emma. She’d never ­under­stand in a hundred years. At the thought of a hundred years, Emily could feel a bubble of laughter rising. She swallowed hard. She must think of something else. She dropped her head to her chest, still struggling to keep in the laughter. Tears of mirth and anxiety formed in her ­eyes.

  That’s when she glanced down at her hands and saw the purple stains on her fingers. In an instant her threatened laughter died. She clamped her hands into tight fists. Oh, no! How was she going to explain about her hands? Was her mouth discoloured too? She kept her head down, letting her hair fall over her face again. Silently she prayed her mother wouldn’t ­notice.

  For the moment, Kate was busy explaining how Mrs. Barkley had called right after Gerald Ferguson. She’d seen almost the same thing as he had, and neither one of them had met any new family, although they had heard someone was supposed to be buying the McGuillivray ­place.

  “Edna Barkley couldn’t figure out where you went, and wondered if something happened to you.” Her mother’s expression had changed to one of concern. “I was just about to go looking for you. I thought maybe you’d fallen off a rock or something.”

  Darn that nosy Mrs. Barkley. Why couldn’t the woman mind her own business? Emily would have to be more careful from now ­on.

  To her mother she said, “I’m sorry to worry you, Mom. But I was with Emma, and maybe we were just in one of the gullies. There are lots up there.” Sullenly she thought, you’d know if you ever came for a walk with me. Aloud she added, “They probably just couldn’t see us.”

  The crunch of gravel on the driveway sent Kate scurrying over to the window. She waved to someone outside and held up five fingers to indicate they’d be out in a few ­minutes.

  “It’s Gerald Ferguson to pick us up. Run and change out of those wet clothes. We’ll talk about this later.” Kate shuffled some papers together on the table and stuffed them into her briefcase as Emily scampered out of the room. She called after Emily, “And by the way, Em, make sure you wash your hands – they’re filthy. And wipe that dirt off your mouth too.”

  •••

  All afternoon Emily followed her mother and Gerald Ferguson around town. She was careful not to complain about how long everything was taking at the Credit Union, or to ask for anything in the ­Co-­op grocery store. She tried hard to be agreeable with her mother, and was so convincing that Mr. Ferguson commented on her pleasant manner and suggested they stop at Harry’s Café for a piece of pie. He even offered to buy. Her mother consented, since the photos weren’t quite ready at the newspaper office and they also had to wait for the last bus to arrive. Gerald Ferguson needed to pick up a part for his ­tractor.

  Emily sighed and followed her mother and Mr. Ferguson to a side booth in the gloomy room. As she sipped on her Coke, she watched them eating rhubarb pie and drinking coffee and wished she were back at her grandmother’s ­place.

  She had only until Sunday. Just three days away, and then she’d be back in Regina. After that, she’d hardly have a chance to visit the farm before the auction. She wanted to spend as much time with Emma as she could. And maybe somehow before Sunday, Emily could think of a way to keep the ­farm.

  She slurped the last of the liquid out of the glass and muttered to herself as she tapped her foot against the bench leg. Why couldn’t the time go faster? She wanted to be up and moving. Then maybe she could figure things out. She needed to ask Emma her last ­name.

  •••

  By the time they’d returned to her grandmother’s house it was almost eight o’clock. Dusk was descending into darkness and the first stars flickered overhead. Kate invited Gerald in for supper, but he declined, saying he had chores to do. He disappeared down the lane in a shower of dust, headlights glancing over the pasture as he swung around the corner onto the access road towards his farm three miles ­away.

  Emily helped her mother unpack the groceries, and they fixed a quick supper of leftover stew. By the time they cleaned up the kitchen and stowed the rest of their purchases away, it was almost bedtime. Emily figured her mother might have forgotten about her lateness that morning. Kate had been silent most of the evening, busy filing bank documents into a folder with Grandmother Renfrew’s other ­paperwork.

  As Emily grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl to take upstairs with her, she spied the parcel from the newspaper office on the table beside Kate. They’d both forgotten about the photographs. Emily decided they might be the perfect thing to take her mother’s mind off any further discussion about her actions that ­morning.

  “Can I see the photos?” she asked, pointing to the package. Her aunt Liz hadn’t found the photo album with her grandparent’s wedding picture in it before she left, and Emily was ­curious.

  “Oh, sure, Em. I never even had a chance at the newspaper office to see how they turned out.” Kate slid the photos out. “Oh, these are good.” She passed one to ­Emily.

  “Wow, Grandma is so young in this photo. What a neat dress she’s wearing. Don’t they look serious, though?”

  “They had to be very still. The cameras were different back then and required really long exposures,” explained her mother, reaching for the group ­photo.

  Emily came to stand behind her mother and looked at the picture over her shoulder. It was of a family. The parents sat ­stiff-­backed on sturdy chairs and eight children stood around ­them.

  “I don’t really recognize anyone,” said Kate. “I’m not sure who this would be, but look at the clothes. Those must have been their Sunday best. They usually only had one other set and over them the
girls wore p –”

  “Pinafores,” Emily squawked, glad she was standing behind her mother so Kate couldn’t see the startled expression on her ­face.

  “No need to get so excited, Emily,” her mother ­scolded.

  Emily stared in silent shock at one of the girls in the photo. It was Emma! She’d almost missed her, because she was half hidden behind a boy almost as tall as she was. The boy was Geordie, Emma’s impish younger brother. There could be no mistake. As Emily looked closer at the group she realized the photo was of Emma’s whole family. Dressed so formally and in a studio setting, she hardly recognized them. But why did Grandmother Renfrew have a photograph of Emma’s ­family?

  She was just about to question her mother on that point when the phone rang in the hall. Emily ran to answer, and groaned inwardly. It was Lindsay, her mother’s business partner. Now her mother would be talking about work for ages. As Kate picked up the phone, Emily mouthed a request to her mother to take the group photo up to her room. Kate nodded yes, and gave her daughter a quick hug, before Emily went ­upstairs.

  When she reached her bedroom, Emily flung herself on her bed to study the photograph. Everyone she’d met that morning was in it, except Emma’s grandmother and sister Molly. Obviously this was taken before they’d come to Canada. This family must have been neighbours or really good friends to her grandparents for them to have the ­photo.

  Emily changed into her nightgown, then opened her window. A full moon illuminated the pasture, and she thought she could hear crickets chirping and soft rustlings on the ground below. A cool breeze filtered through her curtains, chilling her bare arms. As she hopped into bed, Emily realized she didn’t know much about her grandparents’ history – when they had arrived, and where they had grown up. She knew her grandmother had been born in the ­North-­West Territories and had been raised somewhere in this area, but she wasn’t sure exactly where. And so many of the older people in the community had been born before Saskatchewan was made into a province in 1905. No clue ­there.

  She’d have to ask her mother, but she knew Kate was much younger than the others, a last child born when Grandmother Renfrew was in her forties, and she had never taken any interest in family history. I know, thought Emily, I’ll take this photograph to Emma tomorrow when I go to ask her about her last name. Maybe she can tell me how come my grandmother had the ­photograph.

  Yawning, she inserted the portrait into her notebook and slid it back under the window ledge. She decided she was too tired to write in her journal. She crawled into bed and promptly went to ­sleep.

  Emma wasn’t at the rock when Emily arrived the next morning. She’d crept out when the sun was just barely rising over the horizon, planning to make this a quick trip and return before her mother awoke. Of course it was early, and Emma probably couldn’t come to the rock every ­day.

  After a few moments’ hesitation, Emily decided to go find Emma instead of waiting for her. She reached for the stone in the crevice, and slipped into Emma’s world with hardly a ­tremor.

  Walking quickly along the ­well-­worn trail through the bush, Emily realized this was the first time she’d gone to Emma’s homestead alone. Although she felt a bit nervous, she was positive she’d find her way. The poplar leaves rustled as they twisted in the brisk wind, and this time there were no insects to pester her. The day was cool, and Emily was glad she’d thought to wear a jacket. It was also a good place to carry the ­photo.

  As she approached the clearing, she discovered Emma’s mother outside. She was scrubbing laundry on a washboard in a wooden tub, sheltered from the wind on the west side of the house. As Emily passed by Emma’s mother, she thought she heard her humming, but couldn’t tell above the swishing sounds of the grass blowing in the ­wind.

  She found Emma on the other side of the yard, scurrying back and forth checking the washing on the line. The clothes snapped in the stiff ­breeze.

  “Psst,” Emily called to her from behind a ­tree.

  Startled, Emma almost dropped the willow basket, but grinned when she saw ­Emily.

  “Got you back.” Emily laughed, poking Emma playfully in the ­arm.

  “Yes, that you did, lass.” Emma chuckled, and set the load of laundry on the ­ground.

  “I see your mother is feeling better.”

  “Yes, thanks to you, Emily. That camomile tea was splendid. Granny has been giving it to us all.” Emma removed pegs and plucked the dried clothes from the ­line.

  “I’m glad it worked,” Emily said. Suddenly remembering why she’d come, she handed Emma the picture. “I can’t stay. I just wanted to show you this.”

  Emma stared at the photo and looked up at Emily in surprise. “That’s my family! We took this picture in Glasgow before we left Scotland.”

  “I thought so. But if this is your family, why do you think my grandmother had the negative?” Emily held her breath as she waited for Emma’s ­answer.

  “I don’t know.” A puzzled expression crossed Emma’s ­face.

  “Emma!” All at once Emma’s mother was calling. “What’s taking you so long, lass? I’ve another load ready to be hung up.”

  “I’ve got to run, Emily, but we’ll try and figure it out next time we’re together.” She squeezed Emily’s hand, then dashed off. Her braids slapped against her back as she ­ran.

  “Wait!” yelled Emily. “At least tell me what your last name is.”

  “Elliott,” Emma called ­back.

  Elliott. Something jangled in the back of Emily’s mind. Wasn’t Elliott her grandmother’s maiden name? Were they related somehow? She knew whole groups of pioneer families often immigrated together and settled in the same areas. Maybe that’s what had ­happened.

  Emily started running back up the trail to the rock. She’d have to hurry to get back before her mother woke ­up.

  •••

  When Emily returned to the yard, her aunt Liz’s car was parked out front. Darn, now they’d know she’d been gone. But why was Aunt Liz ­back?

  “Morning, Em,” said her mother abruptly, when she stepped into the kitchen. “I see you’ve been back out to those rocks. We still haven’t had our little talk about your behaviour ­yesterday, have we?”

  “Hi, Mom,” said Emily, clenching her fingers at her sides and trying to figure out what to say. Maybe it would be best to ignore her mother for the time being. She turned to her aunt. “Hi, Aunt Liz, what are you doing here?”

  “I just couldn’t let your mother do all this sorting herself, so I put Roger in charge at the office and took more time off. Roger will be taking over anyway when I retire, so he can handle it. And, well, here I am.” Aunt Liz smiled at Emily, then looked quizzically at mother and daughter. Her blue eyes held a question, but she kept it to ­herself.

  “She’s here until Sunday,” added ­Kate.

  “How did you get here so early?” Emily asked. She grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table and polished it on her pants before taking a ­bite.

  Aunt Liz had come most of the way the previous night, but decided not to disturb Emily and her mom so late. She’d stopped forty miles away at the Whitewood motel around one in the ­morning.

  “The water pipes were clanging by six and I couldn’t sleep any more, so I got up and drove here.” Laughing, Liz reached for the coffee pot on the stove and poured Kate and herself another ­cup.

  As she crunched on her apple, Emily was amazed at how energetic her ­sixty-­four-­year-­old aunt was after having so little sleep. She and her mother were already planning their work for the day. Emily glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. She sidled towards the ­hallway.

  “Your dad called while you were gone.”

  “Aw.” Emily groaned, stopping short. Darn, she was sorry she’d missed her father’s call. “What did he say?”

  “He says hello and sends his love, but we’ll have to manage without him for awhile. He’s going to be gone a little longer than he expected.” Kate whisked some
crumbs off the counter and shook the dishrag into the sink. Then she began polishing the taps. “He’ll phone again in a couple of days.”

  “Oh, good.” Emily turned towards the ­hall-­way again, trying to slink out of the ­room.

  “So what were you doing, Emily?” asked her ­mother.

  The sudden question brought Emily to a halt again. “I just went out for a walk.” She unzipped her jacket, and flicked her hair over her shoulder. The photograph slipped to the floor. She’d forgotten about ­it.

  “What are you doing with that picture?” asked Kate, ­puzzled.

  “Uh, I thought Emma might like to see it,” she answered, quickly retrieving it. She hoped she wouldn’t have to explain ­everything.

  “Let’s see it,” said Aunt Liz, taking it from her. “Oh, you did get those negatives developed. Gee, I’m not sure who all these people are, but they look vaguely familiar.”

  “I thought you’d know,” said Kate, nudging her sister’s elbow. “You’re so much older than me.”

  “Well I don’t know, and I’m not that old,” laughed Aunt Liz. “But you could ask your aunt Maggie if she knows, Emily. She’ll be here on Sunday. She’s the oldest of us kids.” Aunt Liz poked Kate back, “Not me.”

  Emily laughed. Her mom and aunt were always joking about their ages. Aunt Liz, ten years older than Kate, was going to retire sometime next year. Kate always teased her sister by saying she’d never feel old enough to retire, because having Emily so late in her life kept her ­young.

  Emily realized she’d never thought of her mother as being older, maybe because Kate was so much younger than all her brothers and sisters. Grandma Renfrew had been in her forties when Kate had been born, and Kate in turn had been in her forties when she’d had Emily. Aunt Maggie, the oldest of all Grandma Renfrew’s family, was already in her seventies, and Emily agreed that Aunt Maggie would probably know the people in the ­photograph.

  Emily held the picture up. “Gee, could I keep this one?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” said her mother, looking at Aunt Liz for ­help.