The Secret of Sentinel Rock

1. Title Page
   
2. Book & Copyright Information
   
3. Dedication
   
4. Chapter One
   
5. Chapter Two
   
6. Chapter Three
   
7. Chapter Four
   
8. Chapter Five
   
9. Chapter Six
   
10. Chapter Seven
    
11. Chapter Eight
    
12. Chapter Nine
    
13. Chapter Ten
    
14. About the Author
    
15. About the Many Peoples Series
    
16. About LaVonne Black
    

© Judith Silverthorne, 1996.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll-free to 1-800-893-5777.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Edited by Barbara Sapergia.

Cover images: “Teenage Girl” by Steve Evans / Getty Images. Landscape photo by Masterfile. Painting of girl on rock by Debbie Edlin.

Interior Illustrations by Kay Parley.

Cover and book design by Duncan Campbell.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Silverthorne, Judith, 1953-

The secret of Sentinel Rock / Judith Silverthorne.

(From many peoples)

Edited by Barbara Sapergia.

ISBN 978-1-55050-386-9

I. Sapergia, Barbara, 1943- II. Title. III. Series.

PS8587.I2763S44 2007 jC813'.54 C2007-902252-9

Available in Canada from:

Coteau Books

www.coteaubooks.com

2517 Victoria Avenue, Regina, Saskatchewan S4P 0T2

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the financial support of its publishing program by: the Saskatchewan Arts Board, the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), the City of Regina Arts Commission, the Saskatchewan Cultural Industries Development Fund, Saskatchewan Culture Youth and Recreation, SaskCulture Inc., Saskatchewan Centennial 2005, Saskatchewan Lotteries, and the Lavonne Black Memorial Fund.

For Aaron,

my son through several passages of time.

– Judith Silverthorne

This book, and the rest of the
From Many Peoples series
is dedicated to the memory of LaVonne Black.

(See page 157)

Chapter One

Something was beckoning her from outside
, Emily could sense it. Turning her back on the chattering crowd, she squirmed on the scratchy couch in her grandmother’s living room, and looked out the window at the farmyard and pasture beyond it. The sun was bright in the vivid spring sky. For the first time in days she felt the stirrings of energy and a need for adventure. Yet there was something more than that, something willing her to go ­outdoors.

For two weeks Emily, her parents, and other family members had kept vigil at her grandmother’s hospital bedside as she lay in the final stages of a failing heart and old age. Near the end her Grandmother Renfrew hadn’t known anybody. She’d died peacefully in her sleep early in the morning four days ago at the age of ninety-­six.

Even though Emily had been surrounded by family and friends since the funeral, she still felt hollow and drained. All she could think about was not being able to talk with her grandmother ever again. Wondering if the emptiness would always be there, she glanced wistfully out the window. The sudden longing to be outside tugged at her ­again.

Then someone nudged her and a plate of sandwiches appeared in front of her. She shook her head and mumbled, “No thanks.”

“You should try to eat something.”

Emily looked up to find her mother standing anxiously over ­her.

“I’m just not hungry, Mom.”

Kate Bradford pushed her daughter’s dark hair away from her face and felt her forehead. “I hope you’re not coming down with something. You look flushed. Maybe you should go upstairs and lie down.”

Before Emily could reply, Aunt Liz called from across the room. Emily watched her mother hurry away and disappear amid the crowd of relatives and neighbours who had come for lunch after the funeral service. Every available seat was occupied, and many people were milling about from one small chatting group to another in the stifling room. Flowers saved from the church were everywhere, their scent overwhelming. Emily felt like she was suffocating in the confines of the old stone ­house.

Screak
. She jumped when someone opened the nearby window. From outside she could hear the call of a meadowlark. A few moments later a refreshing breeze filtered through the warm room. The desire to head out the door and across the prairie was stronger than ever. Maybe she’d go out for a walk. Her parents would think she’d gone to lie down, and probably nobody else would notice she was ­missing.

She stood up and threaded her way through the people in the living room. Her father flashed her a smile as she passed. Agnes Barkley, a close neighbour, swept her into a boisterous embrace. Aunt Liz winked at her, saying nothing. She was paying attention to Emily’s mother as she orchestrated the visitors towards food and ­seats.

In the kitchen Gerald Ferguson, who rented her grandmother’s land, shook Emily’s hand and told her how sorry he was that her grandmother was gone. She thanked him, wiping the dampness from her eyes, and managed to ­escape.

Once on the porch she was careful not to let the screen door slam behind her and slipped outside. From the moment she stepped onto the back stoop she felt compelled to head across the yard to the ­meadow.

Emily turned towards the back of the tall stone house, away from the windows where someone might spot her. She crawled through the ­barbed-­wire fence into the pasture, being careful to tuck in her skirt so it wouldn’t get caught or torn. Then she raced across the wide open grasslands. The wind whipped her skirt against her bare legs and seemed to whisk her sadness ­away.

What a glorious spring day. The smell of dry grass and sage wafted up to Emily as she ran over the uneven ground. It was exhilarating to be away from the gloom and solemnness of the mourners. Emily felt sure her grandmother would understand. She had loved the prairie as much as Emily ­did.

As if in agreement, a chorus of frogs ribbitted in a nearby willow thicket. Emily laughed as she ran, drawn along a path she’d often taken with her grandmother. A meadowlark flitted overhead as she turned towards a clump of budding poplar trees just over a slight rise to her right. She followed its ­flute-­like call as it paused here and there along the edge of the bush, until it disappeared over the treetops. She was on the other side of the bluff now, and could no longer be seen from the ­house.

She decided to catch her breath, then head back. She’d come quite far and hated the fuss her parents always made when she went off on her own. They’d probably discover she was missing soon. Emily sighed, and scratched at her bare legs where stray wisps of dry weeds tickled ­them.

She stood up to go back, but hesitated. Something drew her on. Stepping around a large stone half hidden in the tangled grass, she continued along the edge of the bluff, following the ­well-­worn path. She felt the slight strain on her legs as she gradually headed uphill. A few feet beyond the trees, she saw the familiar outcropping of rock where she and her grandmother had often stopped. Emily smiled, and instinctively knew this was where she needed to go. It was the perfect place to rest before heading ­back.

Bursting into a quick trot up the last few feet of the incline, Emily found herself overlooking a small valley with its rolling hills that stretched and melted into the horizon. In all her wanderings across her grandmother’s property, this was her favourite spot. Emily caught her breath at the sight of all the crocuses that dotted the south side of the hillsides, delicate glimmers of lavender amongst the patches of reviving ­grass.

In the distance to her left she could once again see Grandmother Renfrew’s stone house, where she’d spent every summer of her twelve years. The massive ­two-­story structure lost its distinguished look from this far away. In fact, it seemed quite small and ­ordinary.

With a sense of urgency Emily sprinted to the large ­light-­grey boulder. It stood like a sentinel, its flat passive face overlooking the coulees, with a funny ­hat-­shaped slab jutting out over the uppermost part. Although her Grandmother Renfrew had been too old to scale the huge dolomite rock in the last few years of her life, Emily had often proceeded to the top, reporting back all the things that she ­saw.

Today from the base of the rock the black expanse of the Barkleys’ summerfallowed field opposite her grandmother’s yard made a sharp contrast to the greening pasture below. Each was outlined by long stretches of ­barbed-­wire fence, with little stone piles at the corners. And in the distance to the southeast she could just make out the outlines of Glenavon’s grain elevators dotting the ­skyline.

Excitement rose in Emily as she circled the rock. It stood about ten feet tall. The back side, although rougher, felt warm where the sun’s rays had shone during the afternoon hours. Emily groped for accustomed crannies and ridges to grab onto so she could haul herself up. As she did so, her hand loosened some dirt from a high spot which crumbled and fell down her neck, startling her. She stared up at the crack, then shook the debris out of her blouse, realizing that several of the crevices she’d used before must have filled with earth and sand since the last time she’d been ­up.