by Tricia Goyer
She couldn’t imagine stepping into the future with her past casting a dark shadow over every step. She needed to heal. She needed to turn to God for that healing. To become the woman Brett once knew. The one he deserved.
Ginny also couldn’t wrap her heart around Africa. She couldn’t go there, but Brett needed to. She needed Brett to follow God’s call.
If the people of Gustavus needed someone like Brett, then Africa—and all the orphaned children like her, like Joseph—needed him more.
Chapter Thirty-Four
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August 18, 1929
Dear Brother Peter,
Two weeks have passed since the events I intend to share with you. I don’t care to admit how distressed I was then, but the height of the turmoil is over (though unrest lingers), so now I feel ready to tell you. You need to know.
I believe Ellie wrote you about the night Tinle fell in the river, how my boy Joseph saved her life, and that she was with child. That night, after I realized this fact, a dark trepidation fell over me. For my son to do that… It was “like another fall of man” (to quote old Shakespeare). Betrayed is how I felt. I trusted Joseph, gave him time, grace, again and again, and he stomped on me. The disrespect he showed to me, his mother, Tinle, and especially the Lord… Where was my kind, happy boy who wanted to be just like me? All I could see was the child. Memories, tainted with this grief, rolled over me.
I remember one night, when he was about seven, we sat by the campfire. It was just him and me. I took a bite of the roast salmon we’d caught together and spit out a bone. He did the same—spewed that bone out farther than mine. I watched to see if he’d keep on mimicking me. Sure enough. I slapped a mosquito on my neck. He did too. I sighed after a long swig from the canteen. He let out an even grander sigh. I started humming “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” and he hummed right along as if he knew it.
That boy, my boy—gone—replaced by a rebellious turncoat who thought nothing of breaking his father’s heart.
All this rushed through my mind in seconds. My disquiet must’ve shown, for Ellie, though occupied with helping Tinle, took my hand with her warm, soft palm.
I didn’t let her speak but stood up and left the room. This burden must be borne by me alone.
I wish I’d stopped to pray, to think, but I went directly after my boy. He was heating stones in the oven to put under Tinle’s blankets for warmth, though he was practically frozen himself. The look of him sent a fierce anger through me.
“Joseph. Get up. Walk outside with me.” My throat clenched as I spoke. I doubt he’d ever heard that tone from me before. He looked scared. As well he should.
We stood on the porch. So dark outside, the clouds blocked the moon. I told him he had to marry that girl.
The lines in his forehead relaxed. “I want to, Papa. She’s going to be okay?”
“I think they are.”
He stared at me, confused. “They?”
“You know that girl’s with child.” The words felt like gravel choking my airway. I wanted to grasp his arms, shake him, but I held back my rage. Thank God.
“That’s ridiculous.” He almost laughed. “She’s not with child.”
“Yes, son. She is.”
He stared at me until he knew I was serious. Then his lips tightened, and in a rush, his hands covered his face.
“She can’t be.”
“Well, she is.”
He was crying now. “No, Papa. I never touched her. I swear.”
“You lying to me?”
He flinched. “I swear, Papa! I swear I never touched her.” He collapsed to the porch swing behind him. Held his head in his hands.
I sat next to him. The wind tossed the dire clouds aside, revealing a slice of moon, and I remembered what Reverend Martin had said. “Lay down your life for him.” Finally, I stopped to pray. Is he truthful, Lord?
I placed my hand on his quivering back and thought about it.
A wind whistled though the cedars, swept against my face. I believed my son.
I pulled him to me, and he collapsed in sobs.
Before we could breathe, take this all in, Ellie faltered out.
“The baby…it died,” she said.
We stood still, motionless, gaping at each other. Numb, I suppose.
Ellie graciously tended Tinle as best she could. After a few days, Mrs. Curtis took her on home. Joseph made the mansion his hiding place. Didn’t even say good-bye to the girl who’d formerly possessed his heart. Not a word. He told me he’d had a notion to ask her to marry him. They’d planned a future together. But apparently, she’d taken a shine to the Curtis boy too.
My son is broken—angry and buried in a sea of pain. For a brief moment that night, I thought he’d finally accept Ellie, but then this darkness over Tinle made his thinking run afoul. He resents Ellie more than ever, but it’s hard to get at why. He says she betrayed me with that James, and if there’s one thing Joseph can’t abide at this current occasion, it’s betrayal. He also thinks I’m betraying Adelaide. And most, he’s just plain jealous. Now he’s back home, he wants me to himself—only intends to share me with “insiders.” According to him, Ellie’s not one.
Make no mistake, his reasons are rubbish. But what does it matter? They are real to him, and his pain is mighty real. What I’m afraid of are the permanent scars. Scars he’ll carry a lifetime, keep him from joy, love, peace. I can’t let my son sink. I won’t.
He’s right on one account. He needs me. No one else will do. No one else is his father. I mean to help my boy. If I spend sunup to sundown—or as much time as is possible—praying for him, listening, talking when he wants, waiting for opportunity, he will come around. He has to.
In light of my son’s near desperation, one truth came home. All the months I’ve doubted whether I should marry, I’ve asked a million times, “Do I have a right to happiness when my boy’s hurting?” Of course I don’t. Don’t know why I thought I did.
But God sent Ellie, despite my faults. Is He asking me to let her go for the sake of my son? The thought occurred to me. But no. He’s not that kind of Father. I made a commitment to Ellie, and I intend to keep it.
I thank God for her. I don’t know why He brought her here, to bind my heart with hers, but she’s made me a better man. Let me open my heart again. Never thought I would. To revisit the love of a man and a woman—with beautiful Ellie.
And together we’ll love my son back to us, if the Lord wills.
Clay
Dear Grandfather,
I tell you this because I dare not tell Clay. Joseph’s treatment of me has worsened. He scowls at me and often belittles me. This morning he raised his hand to me. I was picking blackberries to put in our pancakes. I used an adorable bucket, carved from one piece of wood with berries painted on it as if by a child. As I walked back toward the cabin, Joseph stepped from the outhouse. He yelled at me to put down the bucket. I stared at him, confused.
His face turned so red, his jaw clenched. He said he had made that bucket for his mother. I imagined them together, picking berries. He probably imagined it too, because something about seeing me with that bucket sparked a rage in him. He told me again to put it down. I did, and stepped toward him.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I won’t use it again. I don’t want to replace Adelaide—”
That’s when he raised his hand as if to strike me. “Don’t say her name.”
I winced, and he lowered his arm. Then I watched him storm off into the woods.
I felt all the more compassion for him, although I am bruised inwardly from his unkindness. I don’t know if he’ll ever accept me. And if he doesn’t, how can I be part of this family?
For now, I’m going to persevere and pray. I know the Lord will guide me. Please pray for Clay. He’s dreadfully worried about his son. He always shows great kindness to me, but I’m feeling him withdraw. I wish he would talk to me about this, but he only talks to God. He’s been writing in his journal a
gain.
Your Ellie Bell
Clay’s Journal
My boy’s behavior of late must stop. I want to serve him, love him, but he’s not treating Ellie right. Lord, I may have to let him go in hopes he’ll come back some day. To protect Ellie.
August 25, 1929
Dear Grandfather,
In my last letter, I only had time to share the incident with Joseph. Let me get you up to date. Much has happened.
The week I cared for Tinle after her accident was a mournful yet healing time—at least for Tinle. As I cared for her wounds, the Lord provided opportunities to share precious words of healing from the Scriptures. I even prayed with her. She’s so sorry for the hurt she caused Joseph. She loved him—at least she thought she did—but she cared about the Curtis boy too. And she was tempted. I learned a lot about her during those days. Her father died when she was a baby. When she was five, her mother abandoned her. The Curtises took her in, raised her, but they didn’t pay much attention to her (according to Tinle), so she virtually raised herself. The first time she ever heard of the Bible was when she came to the Sunday morning service at our place.
Two days ago, a week after Tinle left, I talked Clay into taking us for a picnic. Oh, Grandfather, it was a glorious day. Janey, Linc, and I packed the food, and then we filed into Clay’s wooden fishing boat and traveled down the glassy Salmon River. The water was so clear I could see the salmon schooling beneath us.
After docking, we hiked to a perfect spot among the flats. Clay and the little ones went ahead, but Joseph hung back, waiting. A nervous lump plunged into my stomach, but I offered a smile. His eyes narrowed, lips turned down, arms folded. “I wish you’d leave,” he said. “You don’t fit here.”
Winter came early to my heart. “What?” I held up a hand. “Why?”
I saw the hate in his eyes, and I knew my concern from the morning he almost struck me was valid. A wind blew through, loosening a fir cone from the cedar. It dropped hard onto a stone, never to release its seeds, never to take root. Like me, of course.
In that moment, I knew. Joseph would never heal until I left. Clay would never marry me until his son accepted me. I should’ve seen it. All this time, I’d been hoping to win Joseph over, to be good enough that Clay wouldn’t send me home. It was all useless. He’d already decided but was afraid to tell me.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. I didn’t deserve a wonderful life with Clay and the family. James’s mother was right. I wasn’t good enough, not for James or Clay or anyone.
As the falls crashed down, a sense of dread overcame me. I tried to banish it, or at least disguise it, until I could talk to Clay.
Descending the falls, we set up our luncheon in a field of swaying grass. The children played, pretending the blanket was a battleship and they were fighting pirates over the tall grass. I would’ve giggled, enjoyed them, if I hadn’t known I would have to say good-bye soon.
After I cleaned up the picnic, I asked Clay if we could talk. He nodded. His brow was as taut as mine felt. Fear chased the edges of my heart as he stood. He held my hand and warm strength rippled through me. A strength I didn’t want to lose. We strode in silence until we could not be overheard by the children. Fear ventured deeper.
“I’m grateful you suggested a walk,” he said. “I needed to talk….” His voice faltered, the rims of his eyes moistened.
For an instant I imagined him dropping to his knees, producing a ring. But no.
“I love you, Ellie.” His brow, so tightly wound of late, relaxed, as it had when he first mouthed those cherished words. He touched my cheek with the pads of his fingers, and I leaned into his touch. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
I fell into his arms, my face against his broad chest, listening to his heartbeat. He kissed my head, lost his hands in my hair. I felt his heart race, his arms not wanting to let go.
“I’m sorry, Ellie.”
I knew. I knew this was coming, but the pain stabbed my heart nonetheless.
“I love you,” he said again, lifting my face, thumbing away my tears. “But my son…”
“I know. I know. You want me to leave. I understand. It’s for Joseph.”
He grasped my hands and shook his head. “No. I wasn’t going to say that. It’s Joseph who must go. I know you wanted to help him, but it’s no use. He’s a man now. He doesn’t have to accept you, but I won’t have him hurting you.”
“You know about that? When he almost struck me?”
Clay’s expression told me he hadn’t known, Grandfather, and this made him all the more determined to send Joseph away. Clay had found a spot at the college in Juneau for him. He’d be leaving next week.
I admit a load lifted from my shoulders. I could create a home for us. We’d get married…
But I shook my head. “No, Clay. You can’t send him away. Not when he’s hurting like this.”
“My door will always be open to the boy, when he’s ready to come home, but you two can’t coexist. It’s not working.”
A sob burned my throat. The words fought to stay back, but finally I won. “I’m going. I already decided.”
“I won’t let you.”
“I don’t have to leave. I know. But I’m going to…for Joseph. And you.”
He tried to convince me to stay, but Grandfather, I knew in my heart it was the only way. We stood quietly, awkwardly for a moment. He finally conceded.
“When he comes around, perhaps we can…”
But I couldn’t cling to an unknown hope. “No, Clay. Let’s just say good-bye and leave it at that. Only God knows the future.”
Tears didn’t fall then, neither mine nor his.
We decided to tell the children the next day, after church. I would leave the following week, seven more days, and it would all be over.
But then the next morning, James came.
I’m exhausted, Grandfather, and the light is fading as sunset descends. I will finish telling more later.
All my love,
Ellie
Chapter Thirty-Five
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The day of the program, Brett and Ginny spent the afternoon at the school gym helping Lee, Linda, and the other members of the Gustavus Historical Society.
She smiled as she organized the stage, set up chairs, and heard more about the earliest pioneers in Glacier Bay. Did Brett realize her smile wasn’t real? What she hadn’t told him yet was that her suitcase was already packed and in the back of the van. And she had just one final errand before she left—to pick up the refund Grandma Ethel had secured for her from Glacier Bay Lodge since she never did stay there.
Her ticket was booked, and the last few of Ellie’s letters were tucked away in her purse. Grandma Ethel had made sure of that.
“I won’t tell Brett of your going—I’ll leave that to you, dear. I insist that you take the letters, finish the story.”
Ginny had nodded and packed them, yet ever since Ellie had chosen to leave Strawberry Point, the letters had lost some of their glamour. There was a time for leaving for everyone, she supposed. And maybe that was the point. Maybe the mystery and wonder of Glacier Bay wasn’t just for those who lived here year-round, but for those who changed in the coming…and who returned home a bit different than before.
And she had changed. She’d already sent Danny a string of text messages this morning, telling him she didn’t want to sign that contract. She wanted to do things at a slower pace. She needed time to seek God and let Him—not a music studio—direct her paths. She hadn’t heard back but figured it would give them a good starting place for their future working relationship.
That was something else she’d decided too. Danny wasn’t for her. Brett was, even if she couldn’t have him. What type of woman would she be to keep him from the mission field? She’d leave, and give him space to pursue God’s call in Africa. And over the miles they could discuss whether God’s plan included them being together at some time, some place.
It neared s
ix o’clock, and she finished her slice of Thai pizza that Linda had ordered for the crew and then made her way out to the audience to watch the performance. She was thankful she hadn’t agreed to sing. She didn’t want this night to be about her and her fame. She wanted it to be about the stories they wanted to share. A retelling of the colorful residents of Strawberry Point. And then—after the curtain call—they’d take up a collection for Brett’s journey to Africa.
She’d also slipped Linda a check to add to the funds for Brett. Ginny wished she had more to give and thought about the money wasted on shoes in her closet back home. That would change too.
The school gym was packed with folks seated in folding chairs, eager to see the show. A black curtain circled the room, hiding the gym walls. Only the basketball hoops overhead hinted of the building’s true purpose.
Spotlights focused on a small stage. A small set had been made of a section of log cabin with an oar, a pick, and a washbasin hanging on the side of the wall. In the corner a pianist played old-fashioned music, getting everyone into the mood. A few video cameras were set up, and the crowd fidgeted in their seats with excitement.
Ginny found a seat near the back and felt strangely excited over this simple production. The performance mattered. People hadn’t just come to be entertained. They’d come to hear their story. To hear about those who’d come before them and made their life here possible.
Just a few minutes after six o’clock, Lee strode onto the stage. “Good evening, everyone. Thank you for joining us tonight for The Chronicles of Strawberry Point. I want to tell you that the volunteers who have put this together are extremely appreciative of your coming, particularly on such a wonderful, sunny evening as tonight. I know it’s a great sacrifice for you to be here. We have an exciting story to tell, and we’re thankful that you’re here. Without further ado, The Chronicles of Strawberry Point.”
Two women, dressed in clothes popular seventy years ago, strode onto the stage. One woman cleared her throat and began.