Amanda in Alberta: The Writing on the Stone by Darlene Foster

It’s desert country, all right,” said Sarah.
    â€œWhat is that over there?” Leah pointed to a building on a knoll. A lone tree stood in front of it. Both the tree and the house had seen better days.
    â€œLet’s check it out.” Amanda headed toward the weather worn building.
    The door hung crooked like a broken leg and opened with a screech. A musty smell greeted them. A large wooden table, set for four, stood in the middle of the kitchen. A round loaf of bread rested on a thick plank, a rusty knife beside it. Amanda touched the bread. It was rock hard. Her eyes searched the shelves of preserves, bound together with cobwebs. She stepped closer and squinted to read the labels.
    â€œOh my gosh, these beet pickles are from 1938.”
    â€œLook at this,” said Sarah.
    A treadle sewing machine, like the ones seen in a museum, sat idle; the needle stuck in a lace trimmed hankie.
    â€œIt’s as if the people living here left in the middle of the day,” said Amanda. “I wonder what drove them away?”
    â€œWe should leave,” said Leah. “This is starting to freak me out.”
    â€œLook at this old note nailed to the wall.” Sarah read from a piece of yellowed paper:

    Seven miles to water
    Fifteen miles to wood
    You can have my desert homestead
    I’m leaving it for good

    â€œMaybe that’s why they left,” said Leah as she edged toward the door.
    A dusty photograph album on the piano bench caught Amanda’s attention. She leafed through the discoloured pages. Elegant ladies in old fashioned dresses and fur coats smiled. Serious men in dark suits and black moustaches stared straight ahead. Happy babies all bundled up, snuggled in lacy prams, even though it looked sunny out.
    Amanda turned another page. A sepia photograph of a dead person laid out in a coffin appeared. Chills ran up and down her spine. She quickly closed the album.
    Bump!
    â€œWhat was that noise?” Leah’s eyes grew wide.
    Bump!
    â€œThere it is again. I think it’s in the attic. I’m out of here.” Leah ran out the door.
    Sarah followed close behind.
    Amanda tripped over the piano stool.
    â€œWait for me,” she called.
    She picked herself up and ran for the door, catching the pocket of her shorts on a nail as she squeezed through. Once outside, she looked at the rip and thought, ‘Darn, now Mom will be angry at me for wrecking my new shorts.’
    She looked back, squinting at the glare coming from a small attic window. A face appeared in the window. Her stomach tightened. She looked again and no one was there.

Chapter 19
    Gordon waited for them at the top of the hill. “Where were you guys? Did you get everything?” He frowned. “We need to get going if we want to win.”
    â€œWe couldn’t find a feather,” said Sarah as they piled into the truck.
    â€œWatch out the window while we drive down the road. There might be one,” said Gordon.
    They hadn’t driven far when Amanda shouted, “There’s one!”
    The brakes screeched as Gordon stopped and then backed up.
    Amanda jumped out and picked up the long black feather. She thought it might be from a crow. She looked up as another vehicle passed them going in the opposite direction, spraying rocks and dust.
    â€œI wonder where they’re going in such a hurry,” said Amanda as she climbed back in the pick-up. “There’s nothing up the road but Red Rock Coulee.”
    â€œMaybe they’re looking for things for the scavenger hunt too,” said Leah.
    Gordon put the pick-up in gear. “That truck doesn’t belong to anyone in our family.”
    After collecting the last few items on the list, they returned to the campground and proudly placed the bucket on the table where another cousin checked off each item.
    â€œWell, it looks like you came in first. But, you used a vehicle and that’s an unfair advantage. So you’ll