The Secret of the Stone House (10 page)

“The wedding takes place mid-afternoon, and we have to travel to the bride’s home, so you’d need to be here no later than noon four days from now.”

They compared the various times she’d shown up in Geordie’s world to when she’d left hers. Time in Geordie’s life seemed to have slowed down since she’d begun interacting with him. The three-months-to-four-year ratio wasn’t the same anymore. The closest they could figure out was that half a day in Emily’s life was about four days in Geordie’s.

“I’d have to come back tomorrow morning,” she gasped. “But I can’t. The farm auction is tomorrow. I have to help and I want to be there. This is terrible. I really want to be here, too.”

Geordie looked disappointed. “It would be fun to have you here, lass, but if it’s not meant to be, there is nothing we can do about it.”

“I’ll figure out how to get here somehow,” Emily declared. “If only I had some way of getting right to this spot.” She turned away. “I must go now.”

“Wait,” Geordie said. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about us being related and all. I don’t know if it’s right or not, or how that could be possible, but I know Emma trusted you.”

Emily turned back to him. “I’m so glad to hear you say that!”

Geordie continued, “I was also thinking about the way you come and go, and, well, if a stone Emma gave you worked, maybe if I gave you something, you could come back easily right here to this house.”

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, excitement dancing in her eyes.

“I made you this,” Geordie pulled a whittled piece of wood from his pocket.

“It’s beautiful,” Emily took the tiny bird-shaped carving from him. “But how will it work?”

“It’s only a thought, mind, but seeing as how we are both connected to the stone house, I wondered if we hid it somewhere at the house it might work?”

“What a great idea! But where?” Emily turned to look at the house.

“I know the perfect place. Follow me,” said Geordie, adding, “But don’t say a word until we get there.”

Emily nodded okay.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Emily followed Geordie as they made their way back
towards the house. They stayed out of his family’s view as much as possible.

“They’ll give me more little tasks to do, if they catch sight of me,” he whispered as they made their way around the bushes. “They’re always giving me the simple ones that even the girls could manage,” he added with some annoyance.

As they trekked across the yard, Emily watched the two men working on the front stone step. As she came closer, she saw that George Sr. was one of the workers, but she didn’t recognize the other man. Was this William Gibson, the stonemason she’d heard about? She watched as they chose stones and cleaned them off, carefully examining them first before setting them into place.

“What are they doing?” Emily whispered as she caught up to Geordie at the corner of the house.

“Looking for the ones with the smoothest tops and those without any hairline cracks,” Geordie answered softly.

Emily stood transfixed at the sight. The men used a series of chisels and hammers to cut the stones so they were the right shape to fit into the plank form. They worked on their knees, chiselling the stones on the soft ground, making one side of each flat for the top of the step.

“How can they cut right through rock?”

“If they take their time chiselling along a line, the stone will crack where they want it to, and they can also cut along the grain of the stone,” Geordie explained. “I’d give anything to be helping them do that,” he added, before he disappeared around the side of the house.

Emily stayed where she was to watch. As the men positioned the stones in the mortar, they checked to make sure they were level, using a taut rope strung out along the length of each step as a guide. They used smaller pieces of rock to shim the stones into place.

Pulling herself away from the stonemasonry, Emily scurried after Geordie. When she reached him, she found him kneeling beside the foundation near the back doorway. He was yanking at a length of a small tree limb stuck into the dried mortar of the wall. Puzzled, Emily waited until Geordie managed to dislodge the piece of wood, leaving a two-and-a-half-centimetre-round hole in the wall, just about the size of a broom handle.

“There,” Geordie said, standing up and pointing. “How’s that for a good place to hide the carving?”

Emily nodded and placed the wooden bird inside. It nestled perfectly, hidden from view. Looking up at Geordie, she asked, “What is this hole for?”

“It’s an air vent,” he explained. “We have them every few feet.”

That’s when Emily noticed small limbs protruding all along the foundation. She’d never noticed any of these holes in her grandmother’s house.

“Won’t someone notice this one’s open?” Emily asked.

“Not if I clean the rest of them out,” he said confidently. “It has to be done anyway.”

Suddenly, they heard voices from around the corner of the house. Emily and Geordie squeezed tight against the wall.

“I won’t do it,” Beth’s voice came to them.

“Come on,” whined Kate. “Mum says you must.”

“Well, I think it’s a waste!” Beth said.

“Girls, stop being contrary and get on with it!” Geordie’s mom quelled the argument.

“It’s Beth, Mum,” Kate replied. “She doesn’t want to sort the carrots.”

“Beth, do you always have to be so disagreeable?” her mom asked.

“But she wants us to line them all up by their size,” Beth protested.

“Kate,” their mother chuckled, “there is no need to be so particular!”

“Oh, all right,” Kate said, “but then they won’t be sorted proper.”

“I’ll sort them,” Beth said sullenly. “But I’m not lining them up. They’re going in piles.” Their voices came from farther away.

“Bring the buckets over here, then,” Kate said.

“No, you do it yourself,” Beth said.

Kate scolded, “Why can’t you just do things the way I tell you to?”

“Kate,” their mom called out, “try not to be so bossy!”

There were a few moments of silence, and then they could hear Kate hissing at Beth. “You’re always getting me into trouble with Mum.”

Emily raised her eyes at Geordie in a silent question when they’d gone.

Geordie shrugged his shoulders. “Kate always wants to do things her way. We call her Miss Bossy Boots.”

Emily smiled, thinking about how Aunt Liz had called her mom that very same thing. No wonder her mom was named after her. The two Kates even argued the same way!

“Do you really think this will work?” she asked, giving her attention back to Geordie.

“All we can do is try,” he answered, plucking the little carving out of its hiding place and holding it gently in his hands.

“It’s not going to work if I’m still holding the stone,” Emily guessed.

“Do you need to leave it at the rock?” Geordie wondered.

“I’m not sure,” Emily admitted with some alarm. “I’ve never left it anywhere else before. And if I do now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to find it again and get back here.”

Geordie considered the options and then with a slight flush said, “I could repeat what I did before.”

Dawning realization crossed Emily’s face. “Of course! When you took it from the rock, I couldn’t get back, but then it showed up under the windowsill in the bag of stones, where I found it again.”

Geordie shook his head. “I didn’t put the stone there, but I could this time.”

A stab of fear ran through Emily. “How did they get there?”

“I don’t know. Molly’s to have Emma’s pouch of stones when she’s older. Mum said so.”

Molly appeared beside them suddenly. “What am I to have?”

Her face was all rosy, as if she’d been running, and one side of her dark, plaited hair was coming undone. Neither Geordie nor Emily said anything for several moments. This was the first time Emily had seen her so closely. She was tanned from being outdoors, and she had a very strong lilt to her voice.

“What are you two talking about?” she asked, looking straight at Emily with curiosity. “And who are you?”

Emily laughed, and knelt down to have a better look at the impish four-year-old with the twinkling, bright blue eyes and the freckled face. Emily remembered that when she was little, she’d had freckles too. Her gran had called them “sun-kisses.”

“Hello, Molly.” She took her hand and gave it a gentle shake. “My name is Emily.”

Molly gave her a wide grin. “How do you do?” she asked politely, not one bit shy. “Would you like to come and see my dwelling in the trees?” Her voice sparkled with enthusiasm and wonder.

Emily looked up at Geordie for a brief moment. Geordie shrugged his shoulders.

“I would love to see it,” Emily said, taking her by the hand, not wanting to pass this opportunity to spend some time with her grandmother as a child.

“I’ll just stay here and clean out these vents,” suggested Geordie, obviously not interested in any make-believe place.

Molly led her to the other side of the caragana bushes and a little ways over the meadow towards a stand of poplar. Emily kept careful watch to make sure they weren’t observed, but everyone seemed intent on their tasks. As they traipsed over the pasture, Molly picked buffalo beans, bluebells, paintbrush, and some little white blossoms, handing them to Emily until she held a bright bouquet of wildflowers. Emily’s chest became tight with longing and sadness as Molly chatted and pointed out the birds and the gophers diving for cover. She thought again of the last times she’d spent with her aging grandmother, walking this very same land.

After some time, they reached the bluff. Before entering the trees, Molly slipped her hand into Emily’s, and they stood silently looking over the landscape. Emily was barely able to breathe, feeling the fragility of the moment of connection to her grandmother, wishing it would never end.

A moment later, Molly looked up at her and smiled, then tugged her towards the trees.

“Isn’t this too far away from the house?” asked Emily with sudden realization, and alarmed by the distance they had come. “Maybe you should stay closer to your family where they can see you and take care of you.”

“I’m not in danger here,” Molly said, looking out over the grassy meadow filled with autumn flowers and purple vetch. “The meadow fairies will take care of me.”

Emily felt a shiver of knowing go up her back, and a peacefulness came over her as the two of them connected with the prairie, the wind, the sky, and all that was around them. A bubbling
bob-o-link
song repeated several times in the sky over the meadow. And, although she wasn’t sure, Emily thought an eagle soared way overhead.

“This is where Jane sleeps,” Molly parted some low bushes and put her finger to her lips. “Sshhh.”

She showed Emily a soft bed of leafy branches suspended thirty centimetres above the underbrush, with a piece of a burlap sack for a mattress and an old cloth for a blanket, wrapped around a small porcelain-faced doll.

“You have a lovely baby,” Emily whispered.

Molly nodded and motioned her back to another section of the trees, guiding her around the imaginary rooms of the house. Bunches of brilliantly coloured flowers decorated some of the lower boughs, indicating the passageways. She showed Emily the windows she’d fashioned through the branches. Emily followed, thrilled to be with her and to be seeing how her grandmother had been as a little girl, playing in her fantasy world. Molly at last pointed out the kitchen with its low tree stumps for chairs and invited her for tea.

“Thank you,” Emily said to Molly politely, “but I must decline, as I need to get home now.”

Molly cocked her head to one side as if listening to someone speak. “Yes, your mother is looking for you,” she said. “She says you are very late.”

Emily nodded her head. “It’s probably time you were back, too,” she said.

“Let’s run then,” said Molly, taking Emily’s hand and dragging her out of the trees.

Molly laughed and chattered along the way. As they neared the house, Geordie joined them.

“Come here, half-pint.” Geordie swung her up on his shoulders and they jogged to the rear of the stone house. Moments later, she slid to the ground by the back door.