by Rita Feutl
Other books by Rita Feutl Rescue in the Rockies, a sequel to Rescue at Fort Edmonton.
Copyright © Rita Feutl, 2004, 2021. First US edition, 2005.
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication — reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise) or stored in a retrieval system — without the prior consent of the publisher is an infringement of copyright law. In the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying of the material, a licence must be obtained from Access Copyright before proceeding.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Title: Rescue at Fort Edmonton / Rita Feutl.
Names: Feutl, Rita, 1959- author.
Description: Previously published: Regina: Coteau Books, 2004.
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20210179309 | Canadiana (ebook) 20210179368
ISBN 9781774390412 (softcover) | ISBN 9781774390429 (ebook)
Classification: LCC PS8611.E98 R48 2021 | DDC jC813/.6—dc23
Edited by Barbara Sapergia
Cover designed by Duncan Campbell
Book designed by Karen Steadman
Edwardian Garden Map courtesy Government House
Cover images: Bush Plane, 1928 by John Crittenden; Portrait of girl, Fotosearch.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
NeWest Press acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the Alberta Foundation for the Arts, and the Edmonton Arts Council for support of our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities. The first edition of this book was published by Coteau Books, and was supported by the Saskatchewan Arts Board, the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Saskatchewan through Creative Saskatchewan, the City of Regina and the Government of Canada.
NeWest Press
#201, 8540-109 Street
Edmonton, Alberta T6G 1E6
www.newestpress.com
No bison were harmed in the making of this book.
PRINTED AND BOUND IN CANADA
1 2 3 4 5 23 22 21
To my father, Robert Feutl, whose kitchen-table tales of empires and peasants and small, hungry boys made history breathe for me.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
AUTHOR’S NOTES
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
THE INSTANT SHE LAUNCHED HERSELF OVER the construction fence, one of those tiny warnings flashed through Janey Kane’s mind.
The same uneasy feeling had nagged at her the time she was swimming off that beach in New Brunswick. The water had suddenly shifted from cool to cold, and a sense of something not quite right made Janey turn back to shore. Later that evening, her dad had talked about the dangerous undercurrents when the tide was turning.
And there was the time even earlier, when Janey had leapt from the top of the basement stairs. It was only after she’d launched herself from the landing that something told her she’d jumped from too high up. Though she’d tried flapping her arms frantically to stop herself from falling, there was no going back. Janey came out of that escapade with a cast on her arm and a new respect for heights.
But here, at this construction pit inside historical Fort Edmonton Park, height really wasn’t a problem. There was just a silly fence surrounding the building site, and a lot of mud on the other side where they were digging the foundation for some sort of old-fashioned airport hangar. Still, Janey regretted her leap the instant her feet left the ground. One second she was casually swinging the locket in the bright sunshine, and the next she was following its arc over the fence and into the pit where it lay in all that mud. Her new white sneakers were going to be toast.
But when Janey’s feet touched the ground, her running shoes were the least of her worries. Instead of coming to a messy, mucky landing, Janey just kept going, plummeting through the topsoil and into the earth. Thrashing frantically, she tried to find solid footing. First she was in up to her knees, then her waist.Too horrified to shout or call out, Janey realized she was being pulled into, and under, the collapsing ground, even as she reached desperately for handfuls of crumbling earth.
Kicking and grabbing at anything that could give her support, Janey fought the fear that was building inside her as quickly as the ground was sucking her in. She wanted to shout, call out, cry for help, but it was too late. She’d slipped underground, with soil pressing in on every last bit of her – hair, ears, nose, mouth – and she could feel herself sliding further and further away from sunlight and warmth. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, Janey pulled one arm over her mouth to keep the dirt from going in as she plummeted toward what surely had to be the centre of the earth.
Suddenly the sliding stopped. It took a moment to realize she was still breathing. It took another moment to realize that the thunderous pounding she heard was not from anything outside, but from her heart, which was beating louder than she’d ever heard it. With her other arm pinned under her and still unable to open her eyes, Janey tried to move. Nothing hurt, and even better, she could shift her legs. Struggling, she pulled her knees to a crouching position and yanked her upper body out of the dirt. She opened her eyes.
The air was heavy and humid and deeply, liquidly black. It was so dark that Janey brought her hands to her face to make sure that her eyes were really open. They were, but she couldn’t see the fingertips in front of her, let alone the space she was in. Carefully, she reached out to touch her surroundings. Earth all around her, but hard-packed, except for where she’d just landed. Could she dig her way through to the outside? She scrambled over the loose dirt, clawing at it furiously, only to realize that the more she dug, the more it crumbled down from overhead.
Slumping down beside the pile of dirt she’d created, Janey felt a second wave of panic. Here she was, alone, buried in some pit in a city half a continent away from her home, and nobody knew where she was.
She’d always known it was a bad idea for her parents to send her out to Edmonton.
THE TWO-YEAR-OLD IN THE LAST ROW squealed as the airplane’s altitude dropped suddenly, then levelled out. The fasten-your-seat belt light pinged on overhead, and the pilot’s voice crackled over the airplane’s loudspeaker.
“Just an air pocket, folks,” he said reassuringly.“But we’re approaching Edmonton in a few minutes, so you may as well leave your seat belts on and prepare for landing.”
Janey had refused to look up from her book when the plane made that stomach-dropping dip, even though she’d noticed, from the corner of her eye, how the woman beside her had gripped the armrest until her knuckles were white. Serves her right, thought Janey; she should have let me have some elbow room on the armrest during the flight.
Even when the flight attendants came down the aisle to collect headphones and blankets, Janey refused to look up. Luckily she’d turned twelve this spring, and didn’t have to fly as an Unaccompanied Minor with those dorky plastic pouches around her neck. And she didn’t have to put up with the attendants’ cheery smiles and fake friendly voices. The last thing she needed was someone nattering on about how excited she must be to see her grandmother after all these years.
Why would she be excited? Who’d be thrilled
about leaving all her friends – friends she’d worked hard to make when her family had moved to that new Toronto neighbourhood three years ago – to go halfway across the country to Edmonton, of all places? Who’d ever heard of Edmonton? Who’d want to go to there, when you could spend the sweetest summer possible in Canada’s biggest city? And this was such an important summer, what with finishing elementary school and finally heading off to junior high, and planning for that first day back with Becca and Kira and Rachel. But now she was here, heading off into the boondocks, torn from her best friends and everything she’d ever known and loved. She’d bet Granny didn’t even have a computer; how was she supposed to talk to her friends?
Fuming, Janey finally glanced out the window. Oh, man, she groaned inwardly, just look at this place. One field after another down there, all patched together like a giant quilt. In fact, it was just fields down there. Where were the people? Who lived out here except old folks and maybe some cowboys? She couldn’t even see any stupid cows. She bet the cowboys were just for show anyway. Man, this summer was just going to be the biggest disaster ever.
If it hadn’t been for her mum getting that dumb job in Turkey for the season, life would have been perfect. But no. Her mum had to go and apply to help after they’d had some stupid earthquake over there.
“You’re not being fair!” Janey had hollered after her mother explained that she’d been asked to help design new housing for survivors.“Why can’t you do that stuff here in your office at home, the same as always?”
“Janey, it’s a wonderful opportunity for me,” said her mum patiently.“It’s taken years to put together my ideas, and I need to be there to watch it develop.”
“Well, then, why can’t I just stay here with Daddy? At least he’s not going anywhere.”
“Honey, you know your father has to work very hard and often doesn’t come home until late. And he’s got a couple of business trips out to Seattle this summer that he just can’t put off. In fact, he’s hoping to make stopovers so he can see you for a few days while you’re in Edmonton.”
“I don’t want to see him for a few days,” Janey wailed. “I want you and Daddy to be around for the whole summer. Here. At home.With me.”
Janey’s mum looked pained. “Sweetie,” she said, trying to draw Janey into her arms.
“No!” Janey cried, breaking away from her mum’s grasp. “All you want to do is what YOU want and you don’t even care about what I want. I don’t want to go and I’m not going.”
Not even the resounding thwack of her bedroom door slamming made her feel any better.
But here she was, three weeks later, about to land in a place she’d never been, with no friends, for the entire summer. She hardly even knew her grandmother, who’d flown out to Toronto four years ago for the Christmas holidays. All she’d remembered was her mother muttering about the filthy ashtrays all over the house. In desperation, Janey’d tried to use her grandmother’s smoking as a reason not to go.
“Granny Kane says she’s quit smoking, Janey,” her mum had said, when confronted as she worked at the computer. “And I have enough faith in you about smoking to know that you and Granny won’t be sucking cigarettes on the front stoop every evening.” She had clicked her mouse and the printer had begun spitting out blueprints.
“But what about my health if she still smokes around me?” Janey had grumped over the printer’s whine. “All that second-hand smoke; and my pores and my tender young lungs...and they don’t really sit on the front stoop every night out there, do they?”
“Honey, Granny’s quit. As for the front stoop, no, I don’t think they do that anymore, though according to your father, his childhood was straight out of a 1950s TV show.” Janey’s mum had closed the file on her screen and turned to her daughter.
“Janey, it won’t be that bad.There’s an outdoor pool about a block away; there’s that huge mall with all the fun stuff in it, and it might be nice to spend a little time with Granny. Remember when Daddy flew out to spend a week with her in the spring? She was after him then to let you come out for the summer. She’s been on her own since Grampa died all those years ago and I think she could really use the company.”
Sure, thought Janey, grimly stuffing her book into her backpack as the airplane descended. Granny’d need something to break up the monotony of life on the front stoop, swinging away in her rocking chair, watching the cows clatter on home.
JANEY FIGURED SHE WAS GOING TO ACT COOL AND haughty when she greeted her grandmother at the arrivals gate. But when she couldn’t see anyone with grey hair who looked like the photos at home, she headed for her luggage. A hand on her arm stopped her. Janey turned to see a blonde woman holding out her arms.
“Hello, kiddo,” said her gravel-voiced grandmother.“What?You can’t remember what I look like?”
“Granny, your hair...” Janey said, allowing herself to be folded into her grandmother’s hug.The wiry arms wrapped themselves around her and Janey felt herself being squeezed until she could hardly breathe.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot you guys haven’t seen me since I decided to go blonde,” said Granny, releasing Janey and stepping back. “Whaddya think? I just figured I needed to shake up my life a little; do something new for myself.”
Janey eyed her grandmother critically. Same loose, long body, same shrewd eyes watching her, same jeans- and-T-shirt kind of Granny as the one in the photos. Maybe a little skinnier, the hair definitely blonder, and the glasses were almost funky – the type Becca craved if she could only get an eye doctor to give her a prescription. Becca constantly bemoaned the fact that she was cursed with 20/20 vision.
“Not bad,” said Janey, recognizing that she was being inspected as well, and that her grandmother was drinking in Janey’s hazel eyes, shoulder-length brown hair and new height. Much to Janey’s embarrassment, she’d shot up over the last year, and now towered over all her friends, never mind the boys in her class. She was glad Granny didn’t say anything about her height. For a second Janey wondered if her grandmother had also been a tall, gawky twelve-year-old.
Granny looped her arm through Janey’s and swept her granddaughter toward the luggage carousel, where suitcases were already lumbering around the track.
“Let’s get your gear and head on home. I’ve left chili cooking on the stove and it needs a stirring.”
Janey’s second surprise was Granny’s car. Long and old and glinting with chrome, it glowed bright yellow from the corner of the lot where Granny had carefully parked it.
“Yup, that’s my Cadillac,” said Granny proudly. “I call her Marilyn, on account of the colour.”
“Cool car,” said Janey. “Did you just buy it?”
“Nope. She belonged to your grampa. She sat in a barn for years up in Morinville. Two years after Grampa died, I got a call from the farmer asking if I still wanted to pay for her storage. I drove up and rescued her, and about five years ago I decided she needed a colour job. Mine came later,” said Granny, patting her hair. “We’ve both been around the block a few times, but we’re holding together pretty well. Hop in.”
They raced into the city, past fields and tractors and – yes – large herds of cows. Great, thought Janey, we will be watching them amble down our street. But she could see a skyline in the distance, and when they finally turned onto busy Whyte Avenue, it looked enough like a real city that Janey figured they might be safe from wandering livestock.
Granny’s house was tiny, a two-bedroom wartime bungalow with an apartment in the basement – Granny called it a suite – that she rented out every fall to university students. “It helps cover the bills,” she explained, “and besides, I like the company.”
Janey’s room was in the back of the house, overlooking a large garden divided neatly into grassy areas and plots of dug-up earth. “I haven’t been able to get out as much this spring,” said Granny, coming to stand beside her granddaughter at the window. “I was hoping maybe you could give me a hand.”
As if, thought
Janey, recalling the tiny, pocket-sized yard at the back of her Toronto house. Their landlord had paved half of it, and the other side took about a pack and a half of flower seeds to keep her dad happy. Janey wasn’t planning on getting her hands dirty this summer. She turned back toward the room without saying anything.That’s when she saw the locket.
It was lying on the pillow of what was to be her bed, the silver glinting in the late afternoon sun.
“I thought you might like a welcome gift,” said Granny, as Janey moved toward the quilt-covered bed. “It belonged to my mother and I felt it was time you should have it.”
“Cool,” said Janey, studying the thin oval pendant, delicately engraved with intertwined leaves. She fumbled with the clasp.
“There’s a photograph of me as a baby in there, and one of your great-grandfather, just before he died of diphtheria. My mother loved that locket. She always wore it.”
Janey stared at the black-and-white photos of a solemn young toddler in ringlets, ribbons, and a frilly gown and an equally serious man with a pointy beard and high, starched collar.
“If you don’t like the pictures, you can always put your own in.”
“They’re kinda cool, Granny. They look so old-fashioned. Can I wear the locket?”
“Of course you can.That’s what it’s for. I put a new chain on it so it would be nice and strong. I’m glad you like it.”
Granny turned away, stopped, then turned back.“If you’re interested in old stories, I thought tomorrow we might go to the historical park we have here in Edmonton. It’s not flashy and full of zippy rides, but it’s got some nice old buildings and a reconstructed Hudson’s Bay Company trading fort that might tell you a little bit about where you’ve come from. Stuff about early settlers, and First Nations people.”
“You mean it’s all about history?” Janey’s heart sank.
“Yeah, but the way they do it is sort of interesting. The people working there dress up in the clothes from that time. They’ve even got whole families who volunteer there, with kids all done up in bonnets and breeches...”
