The Secret of Sentinel Rock (6 page)

Emily shifted her feet, unsure of what to do next. The strange smell coming from the pot over the fire burned in her nostrils. And the warmth of the sun made her itchy wherever her sweater touched her skin. She wished she hadn’t worn it. But how could she have known it would be more like summer here? Scratching at her back, she watched Emma make faces at Molly. The baby gurgled and waved her arms in the ­air.

Behind the tents Emily could see an enormous patch of raw earth where the low grassy clearing had been cut out and dug down about a foot. Just at that moment Geordie emerged from around a bush, pushing a crude handmade wooden wheelbarrow. He rumbled it over to the woman by the fire, not seeming to notice Emily at all. Together the woman and boy lifted the huge pot and poured the slimy white contents into the ­mud-­caked ­wheel­barrow. Geordie hoisted the weathered handles up and set off in the direction from which he’d come. The wheel ground into the track, and Emily could see he was struggling to keep the barrow from tipping over. “What on earth is he doing?”

“Hauling a mixture of lime and clay to fill in the cracks of the sod house, so the wind won’t blow through come winter.” Emma untangled the baby’s fingers from her ­hair.

“Where’s the house?” Emily craned her neck, ­looking.

Emma pointed over her shoulder. “Just over that knoll. Come on, I’ll show you. Just let me give Molly back to Mother, so she can feed her.” Emma darted back into the tent as the baby began to ­whimper.

They walked through the open grassland and over the swell of prairie, following a trail packed hard by the travel of many feet. Emily swished bluebottle flies off her arm and scurried along. Just over a ridge the path suddenly opened onto a brilliant carpet of red ­lilies.

“Prairie lilies,” Emily squealed with delight. She jerked to a stop. “I’ve never seen so many in my life. We hardly ever see them any more.”

“Oh, is that what they are? They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Both girls stopped and breathed deeply. Then laughed. They could only smell the wild clover and primroses at the edge of the ­meadow.

“Wait a minute. They’re not supposed to bloom until ­mid-­June.” Emily shook her ­head.

“It is June. June 18, to be exact.”

Emily stared, ­open-­mouthed. “But it’s April. I only came to the rock yesterday.” That explained why it was so hot here. She grabbed Emma’s arm. “Not only have I gone back in time, but it’s speeding up as well. I wonder what’s happening back at home? Maybe I should go.”

“Take a quick peek at the building, then we’ll run back.” Emma started forward, trying to drag Emily with ­her.

Emily drew back. What if everything had changed back home and she’d actually been gone for several months? Would her parents have given up looking for her by now? Maybe they’d returned to Regina and she’d find no one back at the house. Of course, if no one was there, it wouldn’t matter if she was a few minutes later than she was already. Emily turned and ran to catch up to ­Emma.

Just then they stepped over another hillock and Emily forgot for the moment that she was in a hurry. Three bearded men, dressed in overalls and grey shirts with the sleeves rolled up, were hauling huge squares of sod off a wagon and stacking them up like bricks to form the four walls of a building. Two oxen were tied to the wagon, snorting and swishing their tails at the flies. Nearby another sod structure was already complete and two teenaged girls were scooping the white mixture from Geordie’s wheelbarrow with huge paddles and patting it onto the ­walls.

“There’s our house. Isn’t it grand?” asked Emma. “Now we’ll be snug for the winter.”

Emily looked at the girl in disbelief. Snug for the winter? How could Emma think that? The place was little more than a low shack, made of mud and grass. It had no glass windows, only slatted shutters. True, the walls were thick, but the roof was only logs with more sod on ­top.

“How will you heat it?” Emily asked, amazed that anyone could exist in that kind of house during a cold prairie ­winter.

“With wood, of course.” Emma seemed unconcerned and pointed to the other structure going up. “That’s the shed for the animals.”

An instant later Geordie appeared with an armload of dry wood from the nearby stand of aspens and added it to the huge stack between the two buildings. Obviously this was their wood supply for the winter, Emily ­realized.

On the other side of the wood pile, two smaller girls chased each other through the long grass, yelling as they went. In the distance Emily could see a small field with green shoots waving in the wind. Beyond it the red stems of willow were mirrored in a glassy slough rimmed with marsh ­marigolds.

An older girl, with long dark hair braided and piled on top of her head, was hoeing in a garden several yards from the house. “Emma. There you are, lass. Were you gadding about?” The girl swept some loose strands of hair from her forehead and leaned on her hoe, totally unaware of Emily’s presence. “Come help me with the gardening if you’re not looking after Molly.”

“I can’t right now, Bella. I told mother I’d be right back,” Emma called, and then turned to Emily. “Let’s get you home.”

The two girls raced back through the ­campsite, dashed down the trail through the trees, and climbed onto the ­rock.

“That was really great,” Emily panted as she collapsed onto the top of the slab and lay on her ­back.

“I’m glad you came,” Emma gasped, joining Emily on the flat surface. They stared up at the hazy afternoon sky, trying to catch their ­breaths.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could come and visit you anytime – even without you having to be with me?” Emily was already thinking of going back ­again.

“I think I may know a way.” Emma sat up. “Here, I’ve brought you something.” Out of her apron pocket, she pulled a small embroidered pouch with leather thongs and thrust it toward ­Emily.

“What is it?” The bag was heavy and felt ­lumpy.

Emma loosened the opening. Emily peered ­inside.

“Stones?” she ­said.

“Special stones. From Scotland. I brought some of my homeland with me – in case I never go there again. Go on, pick one.”

Emily drew a large dark stone out of the pouch. It felt cool and smooth in her sweaty hand. “What’s it for?”

Emma explained how she’d told her grandmother all about Emily. Although the older woman had been mystified and fearful at first, she believed such things could happen and was curious. “Gran reckoned if I gave you something of mine you’d be able to enter more easily and maybe even stay without me.” She ran over to the edge of the rock. “Come on. Let’s see what happens.”

Clutching the stone tightly, Emily clambered down behind Emma. They reassured each other that if it didn’t work they’d meet back on ­top.

“Very well now, put the stone down,” Emma said when they reached the bottom. “And I’ll leave.” She ran towards the ­trees.

Reluctantly Emily placed the stone on the ground. As she withdrew her hand she felt a tremor run through her body, and she was back in her own time. At least she thought it was the same season as when she’d left. She could see leaves budding out on the trees, so it must still be April. And there was no Emma. Quickly she snatched up the small stone again. Emma reappeared by the stand of ­trees.

“It worked!” Emily gasped. She stared at the rock in her open ­hand.

“It worked,” Emma yelled, returning to Emily’s ­side.

“But now what?” asked Emily, holding the stone firmly in her grasp. She knew Emma was about to leave for real this time. “What do we do with the stone? If you take it, I’ll have to wait for you each time I want to go into the past. And if I hang on to the stone I’ll always be in your time.”

“How about if we leave it here somewhere safe? Then you could come and go as you please,” suggested ­Emma.

“Great idea, but where could we hide it?” Emily scanned the rock. “Maybe in one of those crevices.”

The girls examined them. One of the toeholds was deeper than the others and slanted ­inwards.

“No one will find it here.” Emily looked at Emma for ­reassurance.

“Good. I have to go. See you soon.” She gave Emily a quick wave and ran towards the ­bush.

As soon as Emily could no longer see Emma, she set the stone in the crevice. She shuddered, and the trees where Emma had run ­vanished.

Emily dashed for home. She ran harder when she saw how high the sun was in the sky. She hoped this was the same day that she’d left. Her mom was going to be furious. She’d been gone longer than she’d ­expected.

Chapter ­Five

Emily didn’t notice the dark clouds gathering
in the west as she reached the farmyard. But out of the corner of her eye she saw Gerald Ferguson, hurrying from the tractor to his truck, by the granaries at the bottom of the nearby field. She slackened her pace, concentrating on what excuses she’d give for being gone all this time. If only she knew exactly how long she’d been away from the house, it would help. Her mother could be a real bear sometimes, and there was no telling how she’d react this time. Perhaps the straightforward approach would work ­best.

She let the porch door bang open and stepped into the quiet kitchen. Her earlier note was gone. Cereal bowls and coffee mugs were drying on the drainboard near the sink. Oops, she’d missed breakfast, but at least it seemed to be the same day that she’d left, according to the calendar. It was turned to the right date. Emily glanced at the clock above the wainscotted wall. ­Eleven-­forty. Almost lunch time. Her stomach gurgled in agreement. She sprinted up the stairs and ­yelled.

“Mom? Aunt Liz? I’m back. Sorry I took so long.”

There was no ­answer.

“Mom?”

She walked along the hallway, peering into each of the four bedroom doorways as she went. She was met with silence. Then she heard a scraping sound along the floor above her. They must be in the attic. She opened the door and hollered again as she ascended the narrow ­staircase.

“Hello. I’m back.”

“It’s about time, young lady,” said her mother. “Your aunt Liz and I could sure use a hand. There’s a lot of work to be done.”

Emily poked her head up through the opening. Her mother and aunt were working in one half of the attic. Two rooms were separated in the attic by a slatted wall. The one side had later been plastered and painted to create the bedroom which Emily used; the other was for ­storage.

The two women were bending over a trunk. In one corner were shapes on the ­dust-­covered floor where boxes and old pieces of furniture had stood. The objects themselves were spread along one wall. Corners of wallpaper were curled and discoloured with mildew. The whole place smelled of dust and dead air, so different from the refreshing environment Emily had just ­left.

“It was such a fantastic morning. You should have come out. You can’t stay inside all the time,” Emily said, wrinkling her nose in ­disgust.

She shuffled near the window at the ­low-­ceilinged end of the room as the two older women continued to work. She was surprised to see the yard lit by an unusually bright sun. Dark banks of clouds were forming over the barn, and the leaves of the poplar trees twirled in sudden gusts of wind. A storm was about to ­break.

“There’s more to life than gadding about, young lady.”

Emily gazed at her mother’s back, realizing she had used the same term – “gadding about” – as Emma’s sister had ­done.

Kate flipped open a box with a bang, making Emily jump. Aunt Liz, with exaggerated calm, handed Emily’s mother a stack of old hats from the trunk to place inside ­it.

“More to life?” Emily placed her hands on her hips, responding to her mother’s remark. “Like what, Mom? More work? You’re always working. Why don’t you take a break and go for a walk sometime?” Emily snapped, just as a low rumble of thunder sounded in the ­distance.

“There’s so much to do. You know that.” Kate looked at Emily in ­exasperation.

“You always say that. Even at home. It doesn’t matter how much I help you. There’s always more to do.”

“That’s enough, Emily. Don’t talk to me like that.” Her mother shook an old handbag at her. “Go down and make some sandwiches, young lady. Liz and I have been working hard all morning, and we’re hungry.”

Emily ducked her head and stamped down the stairs in silence. She’d had such a lovely morning. Why did her mother have to ruin it? Just then a flash of lightning lit up the stairwell. Emily looked out the landing window as she passed. Droplets of rain struck the panes. Storm clouds were quickly obscuring the ­sun.