The Secret of Sentinel Rock (9 page)

The girls hurried up the path and across the clearing to the new building site. Huge clusters of mosquitoes hovered above their heads, causing the girls to flail their arms in the air as they ran. Once they reached the buildings, Emily discovered a huge smouldering fire in the yard, from which billowed clouds of smoke that seemed to be keeping the mosquitoes at bay. All the livestock were pressed against their compound fences, huddling as close as they could to the smudge for relief from the biting ­pests.

Emily was amazed to find the sod buildings finished. Emma drew her inside the compact house, where she stepped onto a packed dirt floor. Although the interior was dark and damp with thick walls, Emily felt the cosiness of Emma’s new home. The single room was neatly furnished with a wood cookstove, a solitary table, a couple of benches, and a few chairs. A quilt hung across the middle of the room, concealing several cots and beds made up on straw mats on the ­floor.

The baby, Molly, was asleep in a cradle with netting stretched over the opening, and her mother lay on a bed beside her, looking pale and worn. Emma quietly crossed to a cupboard on the far wall and dumped the mushrooms into a bowl. Then she covered them with a cloth, and tiptoed back out into the sweltering heat of the day with Emily close behind ­her.

“Mother needs her rest. She’s been up since early morning doing the laundry,” Emma explained as she wadded up the plastic bag and handed it back to ­Emily.

Emily tucked it into her pants pocket. “Guess you’d have a hard time explaining this, wouldn’t you?”

Emma grinned. “Come on, I’ll show you the garden.”

Emily couldn’t believe her eyes at the size of the plants, but when she thought about it, she realized over a month had passed in Emma’s time. Bella was in the garden again, this time directing the younger children on how to pull weeds. She waved at Emma and asked her to bring a bucket of water to the thirsty ­crew.

Emily followed Emma through a stand of poplars, where they found a wooden pail turned upside down over a plank lid. The handle of the pail was tied to a rope. Emma heaved the solid lid up and threw it aside with a thunk, then dropped the bucket into the deep dark hole. Emily could hear the splash when it hit water. Emma jerked the rope until the pail sank, struggled to pull the heavy load back up again, then grabbed a dipper hanging on a nearby tree. As she hauled the bucket back to the garden, the water sloshed onto her feet and the hem of her dress, but she didn’t seem to ­mind.

“Tell me who everyone is,” Emily asked, as they walked ­along.

“All right,” said Emma. “You already know Bella – Isabella, really. She’s 17 – my oldest sister. The younger ones are Elsbeth – Beth for short, she’s named after my mother, and Katherine, although we call her Kate. She’s the serious one of the bunch.”

Emily laughed. “There must be something about the name Kate. That’s my mother’s name and she’s always serious, too.”

By now the girls had reached the edge of the garden and the others came running for a drink. Bella poured some of the water into a crockery jug for later and suggested Emma take the remaining water to the men working in the field. Then the sisters went back to ­hoeing.

“Come on,” said Emma. “Now I can introduce you to the rest of my family. You’ve already seen Grandma and Geordie. He’s named after my dad.”

“Where are they?”

“Oh, Granny is probably collecting eggs and feeding the chickens. She’s partial to them. She says ‘if you treat them well, they’ll lay better for you.’ It’s worked so far.” Emma laughed. “Geordie’s probably gone fishing, or getting into trouble somewhere.”

They ducked under the rope clothesline where the laundry was flapping in the wind between two trees, and followed a narrow trail through some scraggly bush. In the clearing ahead Emily could see a man struggling behind a plough and oxen, his shaggy grey hair matted to his neck under his ­wide-­brimmed hat, and a much younger man tugging on the harness of the balking pair of animals. Sweat was pouring off both the men and the huge beasts. The oxen switched their tails frantically to keep the clusters of mosquitoes and flies off their ­bodies.

“There’s my dad, working up some new land. That’s Sandy wrestling with the oxen. He’s the oldest of us kids. And there’s Duncan and Jack.” She pointed to two figures at the bottom of the field, one wielding an axe, the other dragging roots over to a pile at the edge of the ­clearing.

The girls stood watching the scene for a few moments. Emily wiped the sweat from her own forehead and swatted at little flies. How could they work in this heat and with all these bugs? She could hardly stand it, especially when the grasshoppers suddenly whirred and flew up at her. They reminded her of the summer she’d ridden her bike frantically to the potato patch every day with her eyes closed most of the time, while surges of the leaping insects pelted her from all ­directions.

All at once they heard some loud bellowing from the oxen. The men shouted to each other through the din. Emma’s dad was yanking on the reins, while Sandy used a switch to try to keep the oxen from dashing off. But there was no stopping the animals. They jerked the reins out of the men’s hands. Duncan and Jack came racing up the field, yelling and waving their arms to head them off, but the cattle made right for a nearby slough, dragging the plough behind them. They didn’t halt until they were standing belly deep in the water, where they drank their fill between ­bellows.

Emily heard a great deal more cussing from the men, as they discussed how to retrieve the oxen and plough, but by the time the girls arrived at the banks of the slough the men were laughing. Duncan and Jack had waded into the water and were splashing each other, while Sandy was yanking on the harness, trying to persuade the animals to come back to shore. Emma’s dad was leaning against a tree swatting at the horseflies with his shirt, which he had removed moments before. His face was creased with streaks of dirt and ­moisture.

“Hello, lass. You’ve come at a good time,” he said in a thick marbly voice as they approached. A stocky, muscular man with red streaks in his greying beard, he gave Emma a wide grin, and Emily could see how Geordie resembled him. “Drat those oxen. They’ll not get the better of me and my boys,” he laughed, as he shook his fist at ­them.

He appeared not to see Emily, and she was glad he couldn’t. She and Emma would have a great deal of explaining to do. Besides, it was kind of fun being invisible to ­people.

Plunging the dipper into the pail of water, Emma’s dad took a long drink, and poured the rest over his bare head. Then Emma gave him his hat, which had flown off in the chase. By now Sandy had the oxen up on the bank, and the others were walking over for a drink of water from the pail Emma had ­brought.

Sandy was laughing as he joined them. “That was quite a tussle. Did you see how determined they were?”

Emily clutched her sides with laughter as he acted out the scene again, exaggerating the movements of everyone chasing after the runaway animals. Sandy, although he obviously was strong, was tall and thin, more like his mother. Emily found it hard to believe, when she saw him up close, that he had been able to handle the powerful oxen as well as he ­had.

Duncan and Jack, rivulets of water streaked through the dust and sweat on their faces, seemed more likely to be the ones that could manage the beasts. They were both sturdy, husky young men. Duncan was bearded like his father and brother Sandy, but Jack was ­dark-­haired and ­smooth-­faced, younger than the others. He looked more serious ­too.

He seemed anxious to get back to work, and once they’d all had their fill of water, he was the first to return to the field. The oxen were more subdued, but still bawling as they were led back to the ­plough.

The girls trailed behind the men, and Emma left the pail of water for them in a shaded spot under a tree. Neither of the girls noticed Geordie hidden in the branches above. Nor did they hear him jump down and follow them as they headed back to the ­rock.

Emma and Emily stopped briefly at the house for a basket, and then hurried through the bluff to the meadow where the boulder stood. There they gathered some camomile. Emily carefully explained to Emma how to brew the tea for her mother, even though Emma thought her granny would know how to do ­it.

Before they parted at the rock, Emma gave Emily a quick hug. “Thanks for a fine day, lass.”

“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.