The Secret of the Stone House (7 page)

Emily hung out on the porch watching the two men head over to the Quonset. There was nothing of interest for her there; chainsaws, welding gear, ladders, and table saws were the last thing she wanted to look at. On the other hand, it might be worth taking a closer look at her grandparents’ stone house. She’d always taken it for granted before, never considered how or when it was built.

She walked into the middle of the yard and stared up at the north side. She wondered how long it would take to build. She’d have to ask Geordie the next time she saw him. She started counting the stones on one wall as Aunt Liz emerged.

“Whatever are you doing?” She tried to follow Emily’s gaze.

“I just wondered how many rocks it took to build this house.”

“Plenty,” Aunt Liz said. “Do you know who built it?”

“I thought it was my great-grandfather and his family,” Emily answered, knowing she was right.

“Well yes, they did work on it, but they had help from a full-fledged stonemason, one of the best in the area, by the name of William Gibson. He built quite a few homes around here in the early 1900s.”

Emily realized the extra person she’d seen helping the Elliotts must be Mr. Gibson. “It sure was a lot of work,” she said. “Especially when they had to do everything by hand.”

Aunt Liz looked at her oddly. “They didn’t have any cement mixers, like that,” she agreed, pointing to the one that Gerald was just rolling outside the Quonset. “I can’t imagine how they did it all.”

“By ramps, pails, and using ropes,” Emily said. Immediately, she realized her mistake. She shouldn’t have any first-hand knowledge.

“How do you know that?” Aunt Liz quizzed her.

“I’d say she’s just a smart young lady,” Donald said coming up behind them. He stared at the house. “The workmanship on these places has always impressed me. Tons of stone went into them. Literally.”

“Especially when you consider these walls are twenty-four inches thick,” said Gerald, joining them. “Some were only eighteen inches.”

“The men would have been in great physical shape when they were done,” Aunt Liz laughed.

And the women too, Emily thought.

“You’re not kidding,” Donald agreed. “Did you know stone weighs one hundred and fifty pounds per square foot, and it takes seventy-two tons to build a six-hundred-square-foot house? And this one’s almost three times as big.” He grinned as everyone looked astounded. “I read that in a history of this area.”

“And do you know what that translates into in metric?” Kate sidled up to them. She’d come outside and around the corner of the house without anyone noticing her. She held a calculator and notebook, where she’d written down Donald’s numbers. After a rapid series of calculations, she announced, “That means there are almost 196,000 kilograms of stone in our house, and it is over one hundred and sixty-seven square metres, with walls that are sixty centimetres thick.”

“Mom, go back to your office work,” Emily suggested playfully.

“I’m on my way,” she said, walking back into the house.

The others dispersed too; the Fergusons back to the Quonset and Aunt Liz with them to check on how they were doing. Emily suddenly remembered the key. Now was as good a time as any to do a little search. She passed her mom at work on the laptop at the kitchen table. Kate barely noticed her; she was concentrating hard on some financial figures on the screen.

When she reached her attic room, Emily sat on the edge of the bed and drew the key out of her nightstand drawer. She studied it, wondering what type of box it would fit and what might be inside. She suddenly wished she’d known her great-grandfather before he died. What kind of person was he? If only she knew how his mind worked, she might be able to figure out where he’d hidden the box.

They’d searched the desk so thoroughly looking for the hidden compartment, that she knew the box wasn’t there. She’d never come across anything like it in her room, so that idea was out. The bedrooms on the second floor had been checked thoroughly and she’d been present when they’d packed the boxes in the attic and on the main floor. She didn’t know where else to look. Emily sighed and set the key aside.

Pulling out her journal, she began jotting down her experiences since her arrival. She wrote until her hand cramped up, then lay back on her bed and thought about Geordie. He’d grown so much. She mustn’t wait too long to go back – the time sped quickly by in the past. Everything was always a jumble with different seasons and different days in the two worlds. Was there some formula to it? If only she could figure out a method for calculating it, so she’d know in advance the time she’d be visiting. As she contemplated this dilemma, she felt herself drifting into sleep.

Sometime later, muted talking brought her back to consciousness. She couldn’t make out the words, but they sounded important, judging by the tone of voice. Shaking off sleepiness, Emily looked over at her clock. 5:10 p.m. She swung her feet off the bed hitting the floor with a thud. Placing her journal in its hiding spot, and the key back in the drawer, she headed downstairs.

When she reached the second level, she heard her mom in her bedroom. Emily poked her head around the partially open door. Kate stared out the window with the phone receiver in her hand, her expression blank.

“Okay, David,” she said with an exaggerated patience in her voice, as if placating an upset child. “Then I guess there’s nothing more to say.” She listened again. “Fine.” She hung up with a slam.

“Mom?” Emily hesitated in the doorway.

Kate whirled around, startled.

“What did Dad say?” Emily tried to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

“Nothing good!” Kate scowled. She turned and looked out the window again.

A few moments later, she went over to Emily, her emotions in check. She gave her a hug. “Except that he misses you,” she whispered into Emily’s ear.

“Could I call him back?” Emily asked. Her mother hesitated before answering.

“Yes, but give him a few minutes to calm down. He’s on one of his rants.”

Great, thought Emily, he probably wouldn’t even answer the phone, if he thought it was her mom calling him back. Obviously, the negotiations between her parents were not going well. That also meant her mom wasn’t in any mood to consent to her going out again today, especially since it was so close to suppertime. She could already hear her aunt rattling around in the kitchen. She might as well go help.

Her stomach growled as she descended the stairs. The smell of roasting chicken wafted up to her. Aunt Liz was a good cook.

CHAPTER SIX

By the time Emily left for the sentinel rock
the next morning, the sun was just breaking over the horizon. Unable to sleep, she’d tiptoed out of the house before anyone else was up. Dew glistened on blades of grass and birds twittered their greetings to the day as she strolled across the meadow, spotted with patches of yellow buffalo bean and tiny blue harebells. Emily felt content and full of excitement. She hoped she would find Geordie alone so she could talk to him. But that might not be so easy with his large family around and all the work they had to do.

Once she’d transported herself into the past, Emily decided to go to the old homestead and follow the trail from there to the stone house. She dodged around the aspen stand, avoiding unnecessary steps. She wondered again if there was a way to come and go right at the new home place.

As she approached the sod home, Emily heard voices and the clang of an axe chopping wood. By the time she reached the yard, she found the place full of activity. She watched from behind a sturdy caragana bush, trying to place each of the Elliott family members.

George Senior, her great-grandfather, looked about the same, with his grey whiskers and hair, and his smiling eyes. He seemed to be mending some kind of frame with a screen in it. Geordie was hauling firewood to the house, while one of his older brothers split the wood and another stacked it. She was pretty sure they were Duncan and Jack. Another young man she thought was Sandy, the oldest, seemed to be removing hinges from the barn door.

Beth and Kate must be the two younger sisters, folding sheets as they took them off the clothesline at the side of the house, laughing as they tried to shoo a grasshopper off the material. Bella, the oldest sister, didn’t seem to be around. Perhaps she was doing chores inside the house.

Elsbeth, Geordie’s mom, sat on the bench in front of the house, handstitching clothing. Beside her sat a little girl with brown pigtails, lining up several spools of different coloured thread for her mom.

“Good girl, Molly,” said Geordie’s mom.

Emily stared in amazement.
Molly.
Her grandmother. The last time she’d seen her, Molly was a baby. Now she looked four years old.

Emily edged her way into the yard, closer to the sod house, hoping no one could see her. As she advanced, Molly looked straight at her and smiled.

Emily stopped in her tracks. Oh, no, Molly was able to see her too.

Geordie’s mom stared in the direction Molly was now heading, but appeared not to see anything.

“Where are you off to, lass?” she dropped her mending and looked about anxiously. “Molly, come here.”

Emily held up her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture and winked at Molly. Molly giggled and tried to wink back. Her mom snatched her up and carried her into the house. Molly grinned over her shoulder and waved, as Emily stepped back into the shadows of the trees. So much for not attracting any attention. If only she could get Geordie to notice her without upsetting anyone else.

She waited until he brought the next load of firewood to the house, then stepped into the open.

“Geordie,” she said softly.

Startled, he almost tipped the wheelbarrow. Then he grinned. He scanned the yard to see if anyone was watching, then parked the wheelbarrow by the door and pulled Emily around the corner of the soddy.

“Hello, lass. It’s grand to see you,” his eyes twinkled. “I wondered when you’d come again.”

“Why aren’t you working on the stone house?”
she asked.

“It’s Sunday,” said Geordie as if that explained everything.

He noticed her puzzled gaze. “We don’t do any heavy work on Sundays, except for the basic things that need doing here, so we can concentrate on building the rest of the week.”

“I see,” Emily said, disappointed. “I was hoping to see more about how you built with stone, but I guess I’ll have to come back another time.”

Geordie grinned. “You’re in luck. It’s my last load of firewood and then I need to go feed the chickens and pigs at the other site. So I can take you to look at the house without anyone being there.”

“Wonderful!” Emily clasped her hands excitedly.

“This will be the first time I won’t mind doing the women’s work,” he added. Again Geordie realized she didn’t understand. “Usually my mum or the girls feed the critters, but I have to do it until we move. My dad is always giving me the minor chores to do.” He shook his head and nodded at the others working in the yard. “My older brothers get to do all the important stuff.”

Although he made light of it, Emily sensed he was bothered a great deal by not being given the work he considered men’s work. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like having three older brothers to compete with.

“I’m sure what you do is necessary too,” she said lightly. Sometimes her mother also acted as though Emily couldn’t handle important tasks.

“Aye, I guess it all needs to be done,” he smiled, shaking off his glum thoughts.

Emily touched his shoulder. “I’ll wait for you on the hill.”

“See you there,” Geordie agreed, going back to unload the firewood.

Emily strode towards the barn, confident that no one else could see her, although she wondered why. It seemed that only the younger children could, but that didn’t explain why Beth and Kate couldn’t detect her.
They were younger than Geordie and older than Molly –
about nine and eleven by now. Perhaps they didn’t have any “knowing” at all, as her gran would have called it. This “second sight” came naturally to Emma, and obviously to Molly. There seemed little doubt that Geordie also had it, although he didn’t seem to acknowledge it.

On the crest of the hill, Emily sat on a flat rock, staring out across the prairie with its abundant buckbrush and wolf willow. She could almost picture Emma coming to meet her. She remembered how they would lie on the ground, watching the clouds move across the sky, and have contests in naming the birds that flew overhead. And she remembered the fun they’d had figuring out their family connection.