A Whisper of Peace (38 page)

Aunt Vesta’s words, so gently spoken, penetrated the center of the hurt Vivian carried. “She was consumed by guilt—so much so she couldn’t bear to look at you. She saw the burden of pain and fear you carried, and she hated herself for causing it. That’s why I suggested she send you to live with your uncle and me.”

Vivian jolted loose of her aunt’s hold and sat upright. “Y-you suggested?”

“Yes, it was all my idea for you to leave the reservation where your mother and new stepfather had chosen to serve.” Aunt Vesta took a lacy handkerchief from her pocket and began mopping at Vivian’s cheeks.

Vivian drew back in surprise. Was she crying? She touched her face and found it moist with tears.

Aunt Vesta pressed the handkerchief into Vivian’s lap and continued. “When she remarried and moved to an even more rugged landscape than the one she’d left behind, she worried something terrible might befall you, too. She nearly ate herself up with worry. So Uncle Matthew and I offered to keep you with us, where you’d be safe.”

“So Clay was right . . .” He’d told her she’d been sent away for her safety. But she surmised it was because of
her
fears, not her mother’s fears.

Aunt Vesta took Vivian’s hands and squeezed. “Dear girl, your mother loves you dearly, and she wants nothing more than a close, loving relationship with you.” She paused, her fine brows pinching together thoughtfully. “Do you want to know how to regain the untarnished love you once shared?”

Vivian nodded eagerly. “Yes. Please tell me what I can do.”

With a sweet smile, Aunt Vesta leaned forward and brushed a kiss on Vivian’s cheek. “Tell her you forgive her—and mean it. It’s all she needs to hear, and it will set both of you free.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

L
izzie knelt beside the closest team of dogs and draped her arm across Martin’s back. He whined softly, bobbing his head against her ribs, but remained obediently on his belly as she’d directed. Lizzie’s chest ached so badly she could scarcely draw a breath. Clay had prayed for peace between her grandparents and herself. But Vitsiy was dead and Vitse had demanded she leave. Where was the peace she so desperately needed?

Clay crossed to her, his long shadow falling across her and the dogs. Then he crouched, causing his shadow to cover only her. Somehow, huddling within the protection of his shadow offered a small measure of comfort.

“It’s too late for you to leave for Fort Yukon now.” Clay’s hand started to reach for her, but then he jerked it back. He curled his hands over his knees. “You should wait until tomorrow morning. You can say good-bye to Etu and Naibi, and I’ll accompany you—help you with the dogs, in selling your furs, and making arrangements for travel.”

Her fuzzy brain, weary from the tiring day and emotional battles, found no argument but one. “I burned my cabin. I have no place to go except to Fort Yukon.”

Clay scowled. “It’s too late. And you’re tired . . .” He rubbed his finger beneath his nose for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers. “I know. Come to the mission. We’ll find a way to tether the dogs behind the building, and you can stay in the room I prepared for Etu and Naibi.”

He wished her to sleep under his roof? Only a man wanting to take a woman to be his own would make such a request. Hope coiled through her middle, but she pushed the fleeting emotion back down. He didn’t want her in that way, or he wouldn’t sit there with his hands gripping his knees—he’d draw her to his body instead.

She shook her head. “The tribal leaders would not approve. I can return to my land and sleep under the cache.” The food cache sat several feet above the ground, keeping the food safe from marauding creatures. The spot provided shelter enough for a summer sleep.

Clay’s scowl deepened. “You’ll not sleep in a shack or on the ground when I have a perfectly good bed at the mission.” He rose, holding out his hand. “Come. I’ll get you and the dogs settled, and then I need to inform the villagers of Shruh’s passing. Co’Ozhii will need their support and strength.”

For years she’d made her own decisions. Allowing Clay to direct her should make her feel weak, yet she felt oddly relieved to have someone else take control for a little while. Lizzie took his hand and allowed him to pull her upright. She sighed. “Thank you, Clay. For taking care of me, and for seeing to Vitse’s needs.”

She whistled to the dogs, and they leapt up, dancing in excitement. As she and Clay led the teams through the village, his shadow continued to enfold hers. A fleeting wish winged through her heart:
If only this caring man could enfold me forever.

Clay emerged from the bark hut he’d occupied before completing the mission. He’d peeled away portions of it, using the wood to build shelves inside the mission, and the sunlight pouring through the large gaps had kept him awake most of the night.
God, grant me all I need to meet the challenges of this day
. He knew he would face physical challenges, taking Lizzie all the way to Fort Yukon, but mostly he was concerned about the emotional challenges.

How would he find the strength to bid Lizzie farewell today? The woman had woven herself into the deepest part of his being. Lifting his eyes to the clear sky, he whispered, “Help me, Lord.”

The village already buzzed with activity. Preparations for Shruh’s potlatch were well under way. He hoped the villagers would forgive him for seeing to Lizzie’s needs today rather than staying and helping. As he headed for the river to draw water for a morning wash, the sound of pounding footsteps intruded. Etu and Naibi bounded to his side, offering good-morning greetings.

He gave them each a hug and pointed to the extra buckets sitting outside the mission door. “There won’t be any lessons today. But grab those and come with me. We’ll have enough water for all of us—you, me, and Missus Lizzie—to wash.”

The children’s faces had sagged in disappointment until he’d mentioned Lizzie. Then they broke into broad smiles. Naibi clapped her chubby hands. “Missus Lizzie, she moves to the village?”

Clay quickly corrected the child, his own heart stinging at the change in the little girl’s demeanor when she learned Lizzie would be leaving. How well he understood her sadness. He added, “But you’ll get to see her one more time before she leaves, and I know she’ll be glad to see you. But come—let’s get the water before we wake her.”

When they returned from the river, low whines and high-pitched yips greeted them—Lizzie’s dogs, awake and ready to face the day. Etu shot a startled look in Clay’s direction. “Mister Clay, you did not say Missus Lizzie brought her dogs!” Both children abandoned their buckets on the pathway and dashed behind the building to greet the animals.

As Clay stood watching, Lizzie stepped from the cabin. Her hands deftly twisted her hair into matching braids as she rounded the building. Clay stifled his chuckle when she put her hands on her hips and gave the children a mock scowl. “Who is bothering my dogs?”

The children looked up. Broad smiles creased their faces, and they ran to Lizzie, arms outstretched. “Missus Lizzie! Missus Lizzie!” She laughed, bestowing hugs and kisses.

Clay’s heart turned over in his chest. The love so clearly exhibited between the woman and the children rivaled the beauty of the summer morning. Sunlight shimmered on three dark heads, laughter joining the birdsong. Clay wished he could spend every morning in just this way, observing a joyous celebration of togetherness.

He strode to the happy trio. “Children, would you like to take care of Lizzie’s dogs this morning? Give them some water and dried salmon from the loft? Then you can have breakfast with Missus Lizzie and me. It will give you time with her before she leaves.”

Naibi clung to Lizzie’s hand, her expression doleful. “You are really leaving?”

Lizzie smoothed the child’s tangled hair from her eyes. “I must go to my father now. It is my new home.”

Etu sighed. “We will miss you.”

“And I you.”

The shine of the morning dimmed with their shared sadness. Clay intervened once more. “See to the dogs, then bring the extra buckets into the mission.” He lifted a bucket, took hold of Lizzie’s elbow with his other hand, and guided her to the mission doors. A glance over his shoulder confirmed the children followed his directions. Lizzie also peered backward, her expression pensive. He offered her a smile. “They’ve become very responsible.”

He and Lizzie chatted together as they prepared breakfast at the cookstove—Lizzie frying johnny cakes and Clay stirring a pot of cornmeal mush. The children, so happy to have Lizzie with them, didn’t even argue when he instructed them to wash well before eating. They came to the table with clean hands and shining faces. The meal passed happily, with laughter and more chatter, but all too soon the food was gone, the dishes washed and put away, and Lizzie announced that it was time to go.

Etu’s lower lip poked out. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Or me.” Tears shimmered in Naibi’s eyes.

Lizzie gathered both children close. Clay thought his heart might break when her eyes slipped closed and her face contorted with unshed tears. He touched her back and whispered, “It’s a long journey to Fort Yukon.”

With a nod, she set the children aside. She bestowed one more kiss on each of their round cheeks and then rose. “I’ll ready the dogs.” She dashed out.

They spoke little as they drove the travois-bearing dogs through the woods. Lizzie had taken this route before—a path that ended at a ferry that would carry them across the river and into Fort Yukon.

By noon, Clay was ready to sit and rest, but a hearty lunch of dried salmon, cornmeal cakes, and berries picked along the river refreshed his body. And his spirits were lifted by sharing conversation with Lizzie beneath whispering aspens while the river sang a sweet song nearby. He only wished they could tarry longer.

They reached the ferry by four in the afternoon. Clay paid the fare, choosing not to argue when the owner charged double for each team of dogs. All too soon they entered the busy city. Lizzie marched straight through town, hardly glancing at the tumbledown buildings, the wagon- and mule-filled streets, and the hodgepodge of people bustling here and there. Would she maintain her disinterested stoicism when she reached San Francisco?

She led the way to the trading post at the far edge of Fort Yukon. Watching her dicker with the grimy, rough-looking owner of the post, Clay’s admiration for the woman doubled. She knew what her furs were worth, and despite her tiredness from their long walk, she was determined to get a fair price. Forty minutes later, she tucked a thick roll of paper money in a little pouch beneath her tunic and sent Clay a tired look.

“I am finished here.”

The words held a meaning Clay wished he could ignore, but he offered a nod. “Let’s go.”

Clay fell behind the travoises so Lizzie could control her dogs. Now that the travoises were all but empty—one still held Lizzie’s trunk of personal belongings—the animals seemed to think their work was done. She clicked her teeth, whistled, and jerked their traces to hold them to a slow walk as they retraced their footsteps.

Clay called, “Where are we going now?”

Lizzie didn’t turn around. “The mercantile. I can buy my paddleboat ticket there, and I want to find a ready-made dress. My buckskin tunic can’t go with me to California, and the ones Vivian gave me are too fine to wear while traveling.”

Clay wondered if the men in California would find Lizzie as appealing in her buckskin tunic and leggings as he did. Jealousy attacked, and he was grinding his teeth when he stepped through the mercantile’s swinging doors.

The owner turned from straightening tin cans on a shelf and shot Clay a smile. The smile faltered when his gaze bounced to Lizzie, but he offered a halfhearted welcome.

Clay returned the man’s greeting with more warmth than the owner had exhibited. “Lizzie needs—”

“Do you have any ready-made dresses?” Lizzie interrupted, and Clay stepped back to allow her to take charge.

The owner poked his thumb toward the east wall. “Seamstress in town keeps me supplied with a few.”

Lizzie turned toward the rack without a word. While she perused the limited selection, Clay filled the time by peeking in the barrels at the front of the store. Crackers, shriveled apples, pickles swimming in a briny liquid . . . He’d worked up an appetite with all the walking. Surely Lizzie was hungry, too. Maybe they could have a picnic before she departed.