A Whisper of Peace

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Lizzie moved stiffly, as if her legs had forgotten how to function. She sent Clay an anguished look. “This is the hardest part—putting him in the ground and watching them cover him up.” She swallowed. “It’s over then. He’s really gone.”

  Clay linked hands with her, fitting his fingers between hers. “It’s only his body they place in the ground, Lizzie. His soul has already gone to his Father.” Clay’s soul rejoiced, knowing where Shruh now resided. In those brief minutes before the old man closed his eyes for the final time, Shruh had asked Clay to help him find the High One. With Clay’s assistance, he’d given himself into God’s care. When the time was right, he’d share Shruh’s decision with Lizzie. But he hadn’t yet sensed her readiness to hear it.

  While the leaders chanted their good-bye prayers, Clay offered a silent prayer for each of the people surrounding the grave that one day they would see Shruh again. Let us all gather in Your house one day, Father. And please . . . please—longing rose up with such intensity, tears stung his eyes—let Lizzie be among those welcomed home.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Lizzie smoothed the blanket into place over the mattress and then sat on the bed, elbows on knees. Vivian would tell her she’d chosen an unladylike pose, but what difference did it make? She wouldn’t be living in San Francisco as a lady in her father’s house.

  She shifted her gaze to the four-drawer bureau standing between the two beds in the little sleeping room. Pa’s old bureau fit well in the room, just as the breakfront cabinet—now holding books and supplies rather than dishes—seemed to belong in the back corner of the mission’s main room, and her old table and chairs found a perfect place in the corner of the second sleeping room for Clay’s use as a desk. Her furniture belonged here. But did she?

  A bird’s cheerful song interrupted her reflections. With a sigh, she pushed to her feet and scuffed to the window, seeking the singer. But the oiled paper made the view appear murky, out of focus. Much like my life. She drew her hand down her face. What was she going to do?

  The ringing clang of an iron pan meeting the stovetop alerted her to Clay’s arrival. He must be starting breakfast. She should cook for him out of gratitude for the shelter he provided. Quickly, she sat on the edge of the bed, whisked the blue-checked skirt out of the way, and tugged on her moccasins. Then she scurried out the door.

  “Let me do that.”

  He flashed a smile over his shoulder. The man smiled more than anyone she’d ever known. Even when things went awry—when Etu and Naibi fussed at each other or one of the villagers snubbed him—he maintained an even, cheerful attitude. She envied his innate happiness. Although she’d never been one to wallow in despair, she couldn’t honestly say she held the same penchant for joy that Clay possessed.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I’ve learned to cook pretty decently since Vivian left, if you don’t count my bread. Still can’t figure out how to make the loaves rise.” He withdrew a speckled egg from a basket on the edge of the stove. “We’ll be having a treat this morning. When I fetched water, I spotted a duck nest and helped myself.” He cringed. “I feel bad for the mother duck, but I couldn’t pass up the chance for fried eggs.”

  A little bubble of laughter tickled the back of Lizzie’s throat. He felt badly for the duck? The giggle emerged, and she quickly covered her mouth, aghast. She should be in mourning. How could she laugh at Clay’s antics?

  His brows pinched. “Lizzie? What’s wrong?”

  She sat on the bench closest to the stove and sent Clay a serious look. “I’ve been here a full week already, and I still don’t know what I’m to do. Should I build a new cabin on my land? Or should I buy a house in Fort Yukon or White Horse and seek work?” She hunched her shoulders, wishing she could crawl inside a shell like a turtle and hide from the world. “If I believed my father had told his wife and children about me, then maybe I could have . . .”

  With a fierce swipe of her hand, she forced the thought away. Each time she considered the obituary with its list of survivors—excluding her name—pain and anger swelled. Contempt filled her voice as she added, “Pa erased his memories of me from his heart. So I must do the same for him.” She glared up at Clay, fury making her limbs tremble. “I’m glad I burned the cabin. At least I never have to look at it again and remember the years we lived there together.”

  Clay looked at her for several seconds, his expression unreadable. Then he placed the egg in the basket, shifted the skillet to the corner of the stove, and sat beside her. He didn’t take her hand. She wished he would. She needed comfort—connection.

  “Lizzie, you’re angry at your father, and you have a right to be. He wronged you by leaving, and he wronged you by never telling his family about you.”

  I am his family! She jumped up and stormed to the door. Propping her hand on the frame, she stared across the village. Families mingled in yards. Children playing, women stirring cookfires to life, men standing in small circles to discuss the day’s plans. A happy scene. A scene in which she had no part. The anger drifted away on a fierce tide of sorrow. “I’ll never know how it feels . . .”

  Clay moved behind her, so close his breath stirred her hair when he said, “How what feels?”

  Her lips quivered. She swallowed hard. “To belong.”

  Clay took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Lizzie, you can know how it feels. There’s a place of belonging waiting for you—there’s a Father standing with open arms right now ready to welcome you into His family. All you have to do is lean into His embrace.”

  She swayed toward him, remembering the bliss of his embrace when he’d run into her yard the day of the fire. She wanted—needed—that bliss again. But his hands remained on her shoulders, holding her away from him. She slipped free of his gentle grip and moved to the other side of the bench inside the door of the mission.

  “No father wants me. Vitsiy didn’t want me. Pa left me behind.” Lizzie grated the words, torturing herself with the truth. She waved one hand toward the village. “All of those families out there—none ask me to be a part of their circle. No one wants me, Clay Selby!” Her knees began to quake, but pride stiffened her spine. She wouldn’t cower and cry before this man. “And I don’t want them.”

  Clay took two steps toward her, tears glinting in the corners of his gray-green eyes. A sweet, tender smile touched the edges of his lips. “Yes, you do. Or it wouldn’t hurt so much to be excluded.”

  The gently worded admonition stung like a wind-thrown willow branch slapping across her face.

  He came ever closer until his knees bumped against the log bench. Close enough that he could touch her if he tried. Her gaze dropped to his hands, waiting for them to lift and reach for her. But they remained at his side. She started to run to the sleeping room, to hide in shame and agony, but he spoke again, sealing her in place.

  “Even more than you want them, Father-God wants you.”

  His statement coiled around her like wild honeysuckle vines encircling a tree trunk with scent and beauty. The sensation of being encompassed was so strong, her senses filled with the sweet aroma of delicate blossoms. A tingle climbed her spine—her body’s response to awareness of a presence that hovered just out of sight and reach. She stared at Clay, unable to turn away. Her pulse increased. Tiny, rapid puffs of air escaped her parted lips.

  Clay clasped his hands—the way he did when he prayed—and spoke in a voice so soft, so tender, her heart ached listening to him. “Thousands of years before your birth, God sent His Son into this world to serve as the bridge between Himself and man. Even then, the Father knew one day a woman named Lizzie—White Feather—would walk the earth. Even then, the Father loved you. Even then, the Father longed for you to seek His Son and find your way to Him. All this time, Lizzie, He’s been there, waiting for you, loving you.”

  One hand reached across the bench, his fingers landing softly on her forearm. He slid his fingers downward until he found her hand. His warm, firm fingers took h
old, the touch becoming a symbol of Father-God reaching across the separation she’d created . . . and capturing her in a precious bond of love.

  Clay’s gaze drifted to the open door and returned. He tipped his head, his thumb slipping to her wrist where her pulse raced in an eagerness she didn’t quite comprehend. “Lizzie, you live in the shadow of Denali, the High One. Clouds mask its peak, yet you know the mountaintop exists, yes?”

  Very slowly, afraid a rapid movement might destroy their moment of intimacy, she offered a single nod.

  “How do you know?”

  She licked her lips, forcing her clumsy tongue to form an answer. “Because there are days the sun burns the clouds away, and its fullness is revealed.”

  A smile burst across Clay’s face. “That’s right—the sun burns the shielding mask away so the High One is revealed.” He tugged her hand, drawing her snug against the opposite side of the log. His face only inches from hers, he whispered, “Just as accepting Jesus the Son removes the clouds of doubt and reveals the glory of Father-God.” The fervency in his tone and the lovelight shining in his eyes stole Lizzie’s ability to breathe. “He wants you for His own daughter, Lizzie. Won’t you open your heart and believe?”

  He brought up his free hand and smoothed it over her hair. The touch brought back treasured memories from childhood when Pa brushed her hair from her face. A longing for Pa, for a father—for the Father—created a quake in the center of her being. She gripped Clay’s hand. “I want to be His daughter, Clay. Will you help me?”

  With a gentle tug on her hands, he seated her on the bench. He then retrieved his Bible and read to her—verses about sin separating man from God, verses about Jesus submitting to the pain of the cross to serve as a sacrifice for man’s sin and then rising to life once more, verses that sent fingers of truth into Lizzie’s seeking, needy heart. Realization swept through her—only a Father who loved with His entire being could make such a sacrifice. And He’d sacrificed all . . . for her.

  Clay finished in the tenth chapter of Romans, verse nine. Lizzie closed her eyes as she listened to his deep, reverent voice recite, “ . . . if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.”

  Her eyes still tightly closed, her fingers twined together beneath her chin, Lizzie whispered a prayer to the Father confessing her desire to receive Jesus as her own Savior. Love bloomed within her heart—a love as real and immovable as the great mountain Denali. The warmth of acceptance filled her, infusing her entire body with a joy so intense her eyes flew open.

  Clay sat before her, his smile swimming through her tears. She laughed—a genuine, delight-filled laugh. The heart-lifting sound trickled into silence as she pondered her ability to laugh. She had no home, no family, no idea what she was meant to do next. Nothing had changed. Yet everything had changed. Instead of facing a bleak future alone, she was loved eternally by Father-God. Tears coursed down her face past her smiling lips. Thank You, my Father . . . Never again would she be alone.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Clay reached for Lizzie. The glow on her face and the joyful laughter pouring from her lips communicated the change that had happened beneath the surface. He wanted to celebrate, and it seemed natural to wrap her in his arms. She reached for him at the same time. Her palms pressed firmly against his back as she nestled her head against his shoulder. Their joined hearts beat out a double-thrum of happiness.

  “Thank you for showing me the way.” Her voice wavered, the words falling on his ears like gentle raindrops from a summer sky. “I’m . . .” She sighed, a wispy expulsion of breath. “I’m at peace.” She pulled back, looking at him in surprise. “I’m at peace, Clay.”

  He nodded, understanding. Although he’d never understand how God calmed His children even in the midst of heartache, he’d experienced it enough to know its reality. “And you always will be. Just look to Him whenever you feel lost, alone, or frightened. He’ll always be there.”

  She opened her mouth to say something else, but the pounding of little feet intruded. Naibi and Etu burst into the mission building. Naibi bounced over to Lizzie and flopped into her lap, but Etu ran straight to the stove and peeked into the empty skillet. He spun to face them.

  “You haven’t cooked breakfast yet?” He plunked his fists on his hips. “Naibi and I fed the dogs already. Hurry and cook something, Mister Clay!”

  Clay laughed. He returned his Bible to the table—Lizzie’s table—in his sleeping room and then followed Etu’s direction to hurry and cook something. They feasted on fried duck eggs, corn bread, and strips of smoked salmon. Clay might as well have been eating chunks of bark peeled from his ramshackle hut. Lizzie so filled his senses, there wasn’t room for anything else.

  She’d accepted the gift of salvation through God’s Son, which meant they were joint heirs with Christ. He could now pursue a relationship with her without fear of breaking the biblical admonition about becoming unequally yoked with an unbeliever. He wanted to take her in his arms and proclaim his love for her, but how could he do it with two children seated between them, dominating the conversation?

  More than Etu and Naibi’s presence stilled his tongue. Another barrier rose between them—one that wouldn’t leave at the close of the school day. Although the village leaders hadn’t rebuked him about Lizzie residing in the mission, neither had they offered any overtures of acceptance. He’d seen Da’ago standing in the center of the village, hands on hips, staring toward the mission, and he suspected the man was trying to decide what to do about Lizzie.

  As much as it pained Clay to accept, Lizzie had been excommunicated by virtue of her mother’s expulsion from the village. Shruh had encouraged his wife to make peace with Lizzie, but Co’Ozhii—still mourning—remained aloof. It was only a matter of time before the leaders gathered for a meeting, and unless Co’Ozhii requested a reversal of the ban, they would insist Lizzie leave. Where would she go?

  If she leaves, Father, it will take every bit of willpower I possess not to go, too. She’s embedded in my heart now. I’ll be lost without her.

  Across the table, Lizzie laughed at something Naibi said and then leaned down to give the little girl a one-armed hug before picking up her fork again. She looked so relaxed—completely at ease. Helplessness coupled with frustration pinched Clay’s chest. If she wanted to stay, she should have the freedom to do so.

  The key to Lizzie’s acceptance in the village lay with Co’Ozhii. The woman’s time of deep mourning would last for another two weeks. Until then, he shouldn’t bother her. But the moment it was considered appropriate to visit her, he intended to knock on her door and make his most heartfelt plea on Lizzie’s behalf.

  He pushed away from the table. “Breakfast all done?” The children nodded. “Good. Naibi, fetch a bucket of water. Etu, empty the scraps into the slop bucket. Then Missus Lizzie”—he sent a smile in her direction—“will sweep up our crumbs while we wash the dishes.”

  The children scampered to obey. And while they completed their chores, working together companionably, he did his best not to imagine them as a family.

  ———

  July faded into August, and the sun’s bright face chose to hide a little longer each night. Clay appreciated the change. Although he’d tried to patch his little bark hut, large gaps between strips of wood remained, and the sunlight pouring through held sleep at bay. Having a few more hours of dark ensured more rest. Rest he needed after the weeks of too little sleep.

  The sunlight hours were changing, but the villagers remained stubbornly the same. Every Sunday he planned a service, and every Sunday he preached to three people—Lizzie, Etu, and Naibi. Every day, he left the door wide open so any of the villagers could wander in and join the lessons. But only Etu and Naibi attended school. The natives seemed to have lost their curiosity about him—they ceased to gather when he washed his clothes in a tub in the yard or soaped his face to shave, and they prevented
their children from scampering close when he sat on the stoop and played his accordion.

  Daily he watched, eager and hopeful, for a passing trader or trapper to deliver a letter from his father. He prayed Pa would offer the advice he needed to turn the villagers’ eyes toward heaven. But the letter didn’t come, and day by day his feelings of failure grew.

  Lizzie assured him he was a fine teacher—she’d taken to assisting in the classroom, teaching the children the things they would have learned from their parents if they’d lived—but he shrugged off her compliments. Naibi and Etu weren’t happy with Tabu, and Tabu didn’t care about seeing to their needs. But if they’d been placed in a different home, he doubted they’d have been able to come to the mission at all.

  He’d told Lizzie she’d always have peace, and he witnessed the peacefulness in her blue eyes and relaxed demeanor. But he battled an increasing despondence as days marched on with the villagers avoiding the mission building. The only thing that gave him pleasure was having Lizzie near. In the evenings, they took walks in the woods. He didn’t even mind swatting mosquitoes if it meant having Lizzie to himself for a while.

  She, like he, was waiting for the tribal leaders to visit, but in childlike faith, she said, “If they send me away, I won’t go alone. My Father goes with me, and He will keep me from being lonely.” Clay gloried in her confidence, but he wished he felt as secure. His love for her grew deeper with each hour they spent together.

  On the morning of August eleventh, Clay dressed in his black preaching suit, tamed his hair with macassar oil, and drew in a fortifying breath. Four weeks had passed since Shruh’s body was laid in the ground. He could now visit Co’Ozhii. Etu and Naibi would come for school, but he intended to release them early so he could visit the woman before the evening mealtime hour.