by Rita Feutl
Janey had convinced her dad to drive Granny to the closest path; then, with the help of Granny’s cane, the two of them “hiked” the short gravel walk to the bench. It was the first time the old woman had been out since the operation.
Granny lowered herself gratefully onto the warmed metal, and patted the place beside it for her granddaughter. As Janey settled in, the locket clanged against the armrest.
“Tell me again, Granny, how your father died,” said Janey, unsnapping the locket and studying the photo for the hundredth time.
“He had diphtheria,” said Granny, idly watching a dog and its master romp by. “It was lucky it didn’t get me and Mother. But a famous flyer by the name of Wop May flew up with an antitoxin.Without it, we all would have died. They made a big to-do about it in the press in those days.” Her eyes seemed focused on things other than the ravine for a moment, then turned to her granddaughter.
“But you don’t want to hear me go on about the olden days, do you, kiddo?”
“I don’t mind, Granny. Sometimes, when you talk, it all seems so real to me.”
Granny chuckled. “I’d forgotten about your fascination with Fort Edmonton Park. Will you go there this weekend when your mum comes out?”
Janey shook her head. She’d been back one last time, and had watched the construction workers pour concrete to create the floor of the hangar. She knew her adventures at the park were over.
Besides, Janey had chosen a new path for adventures. After the long weekend, she was starting junior high in Edmonton. The twins had promised to save her a place at the cafeteria table at lunch. And she and Nicky were thinking about trying out for the basketball team.
“I think I just want our family to hang out together,” said Janey finally. “There’s so little time before school starts.” She sighed.
“Are you worried about fitting in at school, kiddo?”
Janey didn’t look at her grandmother, but finally said, “I’m worried about that, and about you, and about Mummy working so far away and Daddy with no job...”
She paused to admire the first yellow leaves on the ground beside her. They reminded Janey of her sunflowers, growing tall and strong in Granny’s garden.
The old woman smiled and reached for her granddaughter’s hand. “Kiddo, I think things will work out just fine.” She gave the hand a squeeze. “Just fine.”
When Janey arrives at an old, Rocky Mountain hotel that looks like a fairy-tale castle, her dreams of a relaxing, preChristmas holiday dissolve. Max is only a year older than her, so why is he such a pain? And why is she travelling through time to witness past events in and around Banff?
Find out in the Janey Kane sequel, Rescue in the Rockies. Available at coteaubooks.com newestpress.com and and fine bookstores everywhere.
AUTHOR’S NOTES
THIS IS A WORK OF HISTORICAL FICTION. While many of the characters are creations, others, such as John Rowand, Wop May, Emily Murphy, Lovisa McDougall and Margaret Henderson were real people. I have tried to show them in the context of their times, whether as the impatient chief factor pounding on the floorboards overhead (Rowand), a scared and lonely young mother newly arrived in the wilderness (McDougall), or a busy farm woman and midwife with no time to listen to the ditherings of a young girl (Henderson).
Incidents such as the 1929 Mercy Flight, temperance marches, vigilante groups, tent cities, and the prejudice against non-English-speaking immigrants were real. Wop May was given a white silk scarf before taking off to Fort Vermillion, though his son, Denny May, says there’s no record of how he got it. May and Horner were forced to land because the brazier caught fire.
Some historical events formed the basis of fictional characters. The ghost story about King and his daughter (Louisa’s mother) is related in the 1803 diary of the North West Company director at the time, but Louisa and her family are fictional. The unfortunate Mr. George did have his house pulled over the North Saskatchewan cliffs, but there is no evidence he had a son called Lucas. A Hudson’s Bay Company manager in Red River did die of diphtheria, but there is no indication he had a daughter called Amanda. The characters of Martin, Anna, and Oleksiy are my own inventions, as are those in the modern-day portions of the book.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
WITHOUT THE KIND AND HELPFUL STAFF at Fort Edmonton Park, especially Tim Marriott, this book would not have been written. I would like to thank Denny May, who graciously took the time to answer questions about his father’s adventures, while Ted Allcock walked this city girl through the steps of field dressing a deer. Marjorie Memnook from the University of Alberta explained the origins of First Nations names and helped me christen Janey’s rescuer in Chapter Two.The librarians at the Edmonton Public Library are an under-acknowledged treasure. I am also grateful to Barbara Sapergia’s critical eye and gentle hand; they make her a wonderful editor. Any errors of fact are mine.
I relied on the work of many writers and researchers, including Alex Mair’s Gateway City, Tony Cashman’s The Edmonton Story, Elizabeth M. McCrum’s Letters of Lovisa McDougall 1878–1887, and Victoria MacLean’s lovely descriptions of homesteading on the Prairies, in Alberta in the 20th Century, volume 2.
It was a joy for me to read my work-in-progress to the kids in Frau Karner’s 2002–2003 class at Forest Heights School; their enthusiastic support and suggestions were invaluable.
Finally, to Emma, Sarah, and Gordon, my love and thanks – you are my home, anywhere in the world.
PHOTO: MONIQUE DE ST. CROIX
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
As a child of immigrant parents, Rita only learned English after she started school in Toronto. She wrote her first story when she was seven.
Since then, she’s written more than a thousand stories for newspapers and magazines across Canada and around the world.
Rita has climbed the Eiffel Tower, explored the Great Wall of China, toured the pyramids of Egypt and hiked the Rocky Mountains. She lives in Edmonton with her family, where she teaches, edits and writes books for children and young adults.
Learn more about Rita at ritafeutl.com.
