I noticed Eddy puffing like a whale, I almost laughed. She needed to come to the conclusion on her own that this Tristan guy was a git. Finally, we came to a stop.
Tristan turned and grinned. “It is here, dear ladies.”
“Phew, thank goodness,” Eddy said, gasping for air. “I didn’t think I’d be able to go any higher.” She plopped onto the ground to catch her breath.
As I looked around, I couldn’t see anything that looked like a cemetery or a burial — just the same shrubs, tall grass, and scruffy trees. Well, that and a few mounds that were probably home to some pretty big rabbits. Then Tristan pulled back some tall tufts of grass to reveal a freshly dug hole about the size of a spare tire. I peered into the hole that was about forty-five centimetres deep and saw a tiny bit of flat surface peeking out that could have been wood.
“This is it? This is the burial we’re here to see? How could this hillside be a cemetery?” For a split second I heard my Aunt Margaret’s grating voice whining like a screeching skill saw — the way she did if she figured something was absurd. Then I realized it was just me.
“It might be strange nowadays,” Eddy began, “but a century ago it took a lot of back-breaking work to clear land with only a few hand tools and the help of some horsepower. Pioneers couldn’t afford to use the flat fertile land you see down there for anything but farms and ranches. But this here slope was perfect for a cemetery. It was close to the original townsite, wasn’t useful for anything else … and besides that, it offered a beautiful view of the valley and mountains beyond. What better location could there be for a final resting place for the dearly departed?”
Tristan pulled down more grass and weeds so I could see a neat formation of rocks in the shape of an elliptical ring. That was when I remembered the bits of broken wood I’d seen down the hill and realized they were once part of the white picket fence that would have surrounded the cemetery — just like the fancy little fences I’d noticed around every little cemetery in every little town from Hope to Golden. It took less than a nanosecond for the heat to spread across my face again like soupy ketchup.
“Well, it looks just like any other hillside around here to me,” I mumbled, somehow thinking that was an excuse for being so thick.
“That’s right, which is good in a way,” Eddy said. “The fact this looks like any old hillside has protected the burials in this cemetery for a long time.”
“Well, it didn’t protect it completely. Obviously, the creep responsible for disturbing this burial knows all about —” I stopped in mid-sentence with a disturbing question in mind for Tristan when Eddy suddenly took out her orange marking tape and wrapped a piece around a small tree.
“Peggy, I need you to find me a sturdy stick about sixty centimetres long,” she ordered before I had a chance to say more. “I want to make a flag marker so we’ll be able to do a survey of the site and locate it easily when we come back tomorrow.”
Being cut off and ignored felt as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown into my face. If I hadn’t had manners, I would have told her to get Prince Charming to fetch the stick.
Once Eddy had marked the site, she insisted I be quiet as she walked down the slope and counted off the number of paces. At the bottom of the hill she marked the bearings with her compass and then left another orange marker.
“Thanks for your help, Tristan,” Eddy said. “Now we won’t have any trouble finding our way to the burial tomorrow.”
What? Thanks for your help … Tristan?
Before I had a chance to say anything, Eddy marched off to the truck. “Okay, let’s get going, you two. I’ve got to get over to the Canadian National Railway office. Since they’re the owners of the land, I need to work out an agreement with them on the conditions for the excavation and historical resource assessment.”
Soon we dropped the teenage mutant off at some old house. The grass was seriously overgrown and brown, and the paint looked as if it must have started peeling off a century ago.
Before Tristan closed the truck door he hesitated. “May I ask — when shall we three meet again. In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”
Eddy snorted so loudly I jumped off the seat. “You’re good. Macbeth, scene 1. How about coming to help us tomorrow? We could use an extra pair of hands. I’ll come for you in the morning.”
Tristan gave a sweeping bow. “As you wish, madam.” Then he paused, probably waiting for the curtain to lower and the audience to applaud. “Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
Eddy hooted like an owl again. “Romeo and Juliet, act 2.”
“My compliments. The lady’s vast memory is my match indeed.”
All right, stop the show! Somebody get this kid off the stage.
“What a goof!” I muttered half under my breath after he disappeared into the house. “C’mon, Eddy, you don’t really want the guy to help us, do you?”
“Oh, he’s not so bad. Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
I shot her a stabbing glare.
“Hamlet, act —”
“No more Shakespeare,” I protested. “Otherwise I’m walking back to Aunt Norma’s.”
Eddy snickered, but we spent the rest of the drive in silence. I felt like pinching myself over the idea of having to spend the next day excavating with Tristan. I was definitely going to lose sleep over this one.
As I climbed out of the truck in front of Aunt Norma’s place, Eddy handed me a large brown envelope. “Here’s a little easy reading for you. And don’t worry, it’s not Shakespeare.”
I grinned back. “Aw, that’s too bad. The cat’s litter box needs some fresh paper lining. So what is it?”
“Oh, just a short history of Golden and some stuff about the previous excavation. Should make good bedtime reading.”
I watched as Eddy drove off in her junky old red truck. She seemed to be laughing about something — probably all the dumb things Shakespeare Boy had said. Then I glanced at the package in my hands and felt all the irritation slip away. I was eager to get my teeth into this project and knew the contents of that envelope were the gateway to an exciting adventure.
~
William Maguire closes his knapsack and flings it over his shoulder, being careful not to look into his mother’s eyes swollen with tears. He fears just seeing them will weaken his resolve, and that must not happen. It is his job now to look after the family — Father made him promise.
“I will write as soon as I can, Mama. And I will send money along from Farwell when I get my first pay.” Will briefly presses his cheek against hers and then gently touches Henry’s and Emily’s heads before leaving. The blank stares on their faces betray minds incapable of absorbing any more pain. How could they when their father is far away in a jail in New Westminster — nary to be seen again in their life — and the folks who were once like aunts and uncles now shun them when they go to town with Mother to buy the few scraps of food she can afford. And now this — their older brother going away, too — leaving them to work
