Where Heaven Begins

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Apparently the reverend thought that because I was young and inexperienced and alone, I—I might respond to his offers to…comfort me. The trouble was, what started with a pat on the shoulder led to quick hugs, never in public, of course, and then he began coming to my room…at night…making very roundabout suggestions.”

  Clint’s grip grew tighter. She had to smile inwardly at his reaction, typical for a man who lived by violence. “Well, then,” he told her, “I’m glad I’ll probably never meet the man. I’d hate to be accused of beating a church minister to a pulp.”

  She smiled sadly. “No one would have understood anyway. When I refused to respond to the reverend’s advances, he took it as an affront, and it angered him. He decided to get back at me, and he was probably afraid I’d say something first, so he turned around and suggested to the church deacons that in my desperate loneliness I had been making advances toward him, tempting him to do sinful things. He told them I would have to move out of the parsonage.”

  “Don’t tell me the people in that church believed him!”

  “Most of them did. He was a man of God, after all, and I was a lonely young woman who’d just lost her mother—and there I was, living in the same house. Don’t forget that the church was run by men. Most men seem ready to believe that if something like that is going on, it must be the woman’s fault, as though it’s all right for a man to be unable to resist temptation. I tried to explain the truth, but I could see they were not going to believe me. When I realized I had to get out of that house, which I had already been planning to do because of the situation, I figured I might as well come here and find Peter, someone who loved me and would help me. I loved helping with church projects and teaching Sunday School. I figure I can do that in Dawson, too.”

  “What about the women there? You must have had friends. Your father founded the church.”

  “Yes, he did, but the congregation had grown from dedicated Christians willing to sacrifice to help the church to grow, to complacent, spoiled members who liked having it easy and liked dressing up for church and calling themselves members. I think most of the married women were jealous and wanted me out. Others probably thought they would be looked down upon for defending me. It turned out my best friend, a girl about my age, liked a young man who liked me, so she sided against me, too.”

  “And these people called themselves Christians?”

  “A lot of people call themselves Christians, I’ve learned. Either way, I just knew it was time to leave anyway. Most of the congregation seemed to have forgotten what founding that church was all about—it was to help those who don’t yet know Christ as their Savior and Lord.”

  He kissed her hair. “I knew there had to be more to your story.”

  “I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid you would say that was proof that it didn’t matter if a man called himself Christian. I was afraid you would say being Christian really meant nothing, but it means a great deal to me, Clint. Christ taught us that we must voice His word, spread it to others and never be ashamed to offer His grace and peace. And Christ alone knows whose heart is sincere and whose is not. Christ knows that your heart is sincere, Clint, in spite of what you do. You feel you’re helping the innocent by ridding the world of the sinful. You’re angry at God, so you’re fighting Him instead of working with Him, so you—”

  “Stop right there.”

  She closed her eyes, feeling very sleepy. “You’re the one who said to keep talking. I can’t do that without talking about what’s most important to my heart, and that’s two things—God…and you.”

  “You mean I come second?”

  She sighed in feigned regret. “Sorry, but you always will.” Why didn’t she mind the feel of him kissing her hair again? Was that sinful?

  “Okay, then, let’s get back to what happened. Why didn’t you tell me before this?”

  “I guess because I figured you’d be like all other men and think it was my fault. I didn’t know you well enough to know what you’d think, but I’ve come to look at you as different from others. I see and feel a goodness about you that just…I don’t know…I feel comfortable around you now. And because you aren’t pious and because you haven’t lived a life sheltered within the church, I thought you’d understand better some of the different feelings men and women have. If you’d been one of those deacons, you would have had the courage to speak up in my defense.”

  “You think so, do you?”

  “I know so.”

  He sat quietly for a moment. “Oh, but there is so much you don’t know about me.”

  “That’s your fault. You’ve told me about your childhood, where you came from and what you do now. You’ve just left out the middle part. You can tell me about that whenever you’re ready.”

  There came no response. All she heard was the howling wind.

  “You already know my wife’s name,” he told her after a good ten minutes of quiet. “My son’s name was…Ethan. That’s my first name. Clint is my middle name. I started using it after what happened so I wouldn’t have to hear anyone call out the name Ethan again. I can’t stand to hear it, and I almost never say it myself. It makes me think of him.” He sighed deeply. “There. That’s all you get for now.”

  She smiled, her eyes drifting shut again. She squeezed his arms with her fingers. “That’s enough,” she answered.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  For every man shall bear his own burden.

  —Galatians 6:5

  Upon awakening the morning after the snowstorm, they found the opening to the tent covered nearly to the top. Clint shoved snow outward as best he could to keep it from filling the tent when he opened the tent flaps, and once he made a big enough opening, he stood up and shouted to Elizabeth.

  “Not as bad as I thought.”

  Elizabeth was relieved the wind and snow had stopped. She joined Clint to see sunshine and calm. The snow had blown and drifted in such a way that some tents, like theirs, were buried to the point that only the peaks showed, while others were fully in the open. Already several men were out setting up surveying equipment.

  “Must be more railroad men,” Clint suggested.

  They both gazed at the steep climb ahead. A few men were already moving about farther up on the pass. Elizabeth looked around. “Clint, the horses.”

  Queen, Devil and Red Lady were nowhere to be seen. “Come on,” Clint told her.

  Together they trudged through snow that was sometimes waist-deep on Clint, even deeper for Elizabeth, who had to follow Clint to be able to navigate at all. Finally they made their way to an area that had been swept free by the wind, and both had to stop and catch their breath when they spotted a horse on its side in the distance.

  Clint muttered a curse and headed in that direction. Elizabeth cared little at the moment that he’d cursed, knowing how bad he’d feel if it was one of his animals, which it was. Elizabeth rushed up to Clint, and there lay Queen, frozen to death.

  Clint knelt beside the horse and ran his hand over Queen’s neck, saying nothing.

  “Poor thing!” Elizabeth lamented, her eyes tearing. She, too, knelt down, leaning over to kiss the horse’s forehead. “She’d become such a good friend.”

  Clint cleared his throat. “She died alone,” he said, his voice strained.

  Elizabeth knew he was thinking about his wife, or perhaps his son. She put a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Clint.”

  He kept his face hidden from her as he quickly wiped at his eyes and drew a deep breath. “We’d better get as much gear off her as we can.” He began yanking at saddle bags. “Whatever is under her will have to stay there,” he continued. “She’s frozen stiff. We’ll never manage to move her or turn her over.” He coughed deeply, then took a deep breath and wiped at his eyes again. “I sure hate leaving her here for the wolves.” He handed Elizabeth the bags and began untying ropes and straps. “I don’t think we’ve lost too much; a sack of flour, maybe, and maybe one of beans.”


  He worked quickly, and Elizabeth helped, suspecting Clint’s deliberate hasty unloading was to avoid talking about the dead horse or how he felt about it…or perhaps to help him stop thinking about his wife and son.

  “We’ll drag this stuff back to the tent and look for Devil and Red Lady. Let’s just hope they’re still alive because there is no way we will manage all these supplies by ourselves, certainly not when one of us is a woman. I’m told the Canadian Mounties won’t let us into British Columbia without the right amount of supplies. Too many prospectors died of starvation last winter.”

  It took practically all the strength Elizabeth could muster to help tote more beans, flour and pots and pans back to the tent. Once outside and away from the warmth of hers and Clint’s bodies curled together, the calm cold began to penetrate her to the bone. She couldn’t help worrying about Clint’s condition.

  Clint ordered her to stay at the tent then and see what she could drum up to eat without making a fire. Wood was too scarce. She dug out some leftover biscuits as he left again, and even from a distance she could hear his deep cough.

  She bowed her head and prayed for Clint’s health and that he would find the other two horses. Aching for hot coffee, she bit into a partially frozen biscuit, thinking how fried eggs and bacon would be much more welcome.

  After a good half hour Clint returned, leading the other two horses. Hope filled Elizabeth’s heart that maybe the rest of the trip wouldn’t be so bad after all. She smiled and rose, walking out to greet man and horses, hugging Devil and Red Lady and kissing their noses. “Where were they?”

  “Huddled together in a kind of cove created by boulders. Must have sheltered them from the worst of the wind,” Clint told her. “Queen always was the dumbest of the three.” He ducked inside the tent and came out with the sack of oats they had used for a pillow. “Hang on to Red Lady so she doesn’t start something over these oats,” he told Elizabeth, opening the oats and holding them under Devil’s nose so the horse could eat some of them.

  Elizabeth kept a firm hold on Red Lady. The mare was not at all pleased that Devil got to eat first. Once Clint felt the gelding had had enough, he took the bag of oats away and handed it to Elizabeth, telling her to hold it open for Red Lady.

  “Devil will be harder to control,” he grumbled, gripping the gelding’s bridle. As soon as Red Lady started eating, Devil reared, wanting to shove the mare away from the oats.

  “Whoa there!” Clint shouted. He yelled more commands, forcing Devil backward and away from Red Lady and Elizabeth.

  “Are we leaving today?” Elizabeth asked as she let Red Lady feed.

  “Might as well. No time to waste.”

  Once Red Lady got her fill, Clint packed the oats away and he and Elizabeth took time to eat what was available, both of them longing for hot coffee. They packed their gear then, rearranging supplies meant for three horses onto two. Clint even put some of the supplies into a neatly-arranged backpack for himself.

  “Guess I’ll have to take Queen’s place,” he joked.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Elizabeth asked, truly concerned.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Clint hoisted the backpack to a more comfortable position.

  “I’m so concerned about that cough.”

  “It’s just one of those things that’s going to linger awhile.”

  Elizabeth donned a second woolen cap, then made ready to tie a scarf around her face against the cold. “I don’t like it. You never rested enough back in Skagway.”

  “Such is life. I just want to keep going now and get this trip over with.”

  Elizabeth walked up to him, her face now covered. “There are some here who have turned back. There is always next year, Clint.” She noticed an odd sadness in his blue eyes.

  “No, there isn’t. Until I find Roland Fisher, I won’t know the answers to a few things. If you’ve convinced me of one thing, it’s that your God pulled us together, and made me fall in love with you. But loving you isn’t the whole answer to what still eats at me inside. I don’t expect you to understand it. I just know we have to do this.”

  Elizabeth felt relief that at least he admitted God had something to do with this journey. This was becoming much more than a physical journey to Dawson just to find Peter and a fugitive. It was becoming a journey of the heart, and her own heart was hopelessly immersed in love for Clint Brady.

  “I love you, too, Clint.”

  He pulled the scarf down from her face, leaned down and met her lips in a gentle kiss, then kissed her eyes and pulled her scarf back up. “When we get to Dawson, I’ll shave off this beard so I don’t scratch your face with it.”

  She pulled the scarf down again. “I’d appreciate that. I hate for that handsome face to be hidden under all that stubble. But may I have one more kiss anyway?”

  Clint grinned. “I’ll gladly kiss you as often as you want.” He met her lips again, this time in a deeper kiss that suggested he wanted much more. He left her mouth and embraced her. “You have a lot to learn, Miss Breckenridge, and I will gladly teach you once you’re my wife.”

  Elizabeth’s heart took a leap at the words. “Your wife? Is that a proposal, Mr. Brady?” What an odd place and time to have brought up the subject.

  He kept hold of her. “I guess it is. It just kind of slipped out. Actually I was going to save this for Dawson.” He laughed lightly and hugged her tighter. “This gives you a couple of weeks to think about your answer, if we both live through the rest of this trip.”

  Not one part of her doubted that Clint Brady would make a good husband, that there was a gentle, kind side to him he’d seldom shown since his wife’s death. She rested her head against his chest. “I would like nothing more than to marry you, Clint, but you’re right about the rest of it. I can’t be your wife until I know your heart is first right with God. That’s the only kind of love that truly counts in this life.”

  “Let’s just get ourselves to Dawson for now. That gives me a couple more weeks to think about a lot of things.”

  Good. At least they could finally talk without Clint blowing up about something. Clint pulled away, and Elizabeth put the scarf back over her face again. “Okay, let’s get over the pass,” she told him.

  She looked up at the daunting incline. It was hard to imagine anyone would make this trip through the pass more than once, but some men made several trips just to get all their belongings over the peak.

  “Clint, wait,” she spoke up, as he took Devil’s bridle.

  “What is it?”

  She pulled off her scarf again. “Will you…pray with me…that we make it over the pass?”

  He stared at her a moment, at first looking irritated, then doubtful. “If you want,” he finally answered, “for whatever good a prayer from me would do.”

  Elizabeth walked up and grasped his hands, bowing her head. “Heavenly Father, we thank You for getting us this far. Now, Lord, we just ask that You help us get over White Pass without losing one of the horses, or one of our own lives. We know it won’t be easy, but Lord, we also believe that You have been in charge of this journey all along, and so we trust You to help us over this most dangerous and demanding part of our trip. And I personally pray that when we reach Dawson I will find Peter well and happy, and that Clint will find the answers only You can give him so that his heart will be healed. In the name of Christ we pray. Amen.”

  Clint squeezed her hands but said nothing except, “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

  —St. John 14:27

  Elizabeth soon realized the word daunting came nowhere near describing the climb over White Pass. Those who’d gone ahead of them had helped pack down the fresh snow, but that in turn created areas that were too slick. Mixed in with hidden rocks, the sky-high pathway posed not just a taxing test on the human body
, but formidable danger.

  Added to that was a cold that seemed to penetrate to the very marrow of one’s bones. Elizabeth could not help worrying about Clint’s health, but she kept reminding herself to trust his health to God. For now all concentration had to be zeroed onto surviving this climb. From a distance it had looked obviously high and long, but once they started, every step only made the peak look farther away. After only perhaps one-eighth of the distance, she shouted for Clint to stop.

  “I have to sit down for a while,” she told him, nearly in tears.

  Clint steadied Devil. “Do you want to turn around?” he shouted to her.

  “No!” she exclaimed. “Please just…just stay put for a little while. The muscles in my legs are screaming! If I go any farther they’ll give out and I’ll fall.” Oh, how she hated creating problems because of her own weakness. “I’m sorry,” she yelled. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” he called back. “I’d come to you but I can’t leave Devil! He’s too skittish.”

  Elizabeth nodded, keeping hold of Red Lady’s reins as she rubbed at her thighs. How on earth was she going to get all the way to the top? She heard a man scream from higher above them, and yet another voice yelled, “Look out!”

  Elizabeth looked up to see a horse sliding down the slope on its back, its legs flailing while it whinnied frantically. One man could not get out of the way in time, and the horse slammed into him, knocking him ahead of it and then falling on top of him, literally shoving him down deeper into the snow. Clint screamed at Elizabeth to get out of the way, and she scrambled back as far as possible without stepping off the trail into a much steeper area. Clint struggled to hang on to Devil while the falling horse slid past him, narrowly missing man and horse. In the next second the horse shot past Elizabeth, one hoof slamming her across the side of the face. She heard Clint yell her name, and for the next few moments everything went black.