A Whisper of Peace (41 page)

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

C
lay 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.

He walked across the dewy ground to the mission. The door stood open in invitation, signifying Lizzie was up. His pulse beat like a hummingbird’s wings in anticipation of seeing her again. The effect this woman had on him . . . Surely God wouldn’t let these feelings grow only to take her away, would He?

Lizzie stood at the cookstove greasing a black iron skillet, dressed today in her buckskin tunic and leggings. Her hair hung in neat braids alongside her dusky face, and she hummed a hymn he’d played the previous Sunday on his accordion. Her beauty, as always, made his breath catch, and the sight of her at the cookstove, looking every bit like she belonged there, brought an immediate prayer from his heart.

Father-God, let them let her stay. She’s content here . . . happy. And I love her. I love her more than I ever imagined possible. Please let her stay.

She turned and looked him up and down, a shy smile on her rosy lips. “How fine you look.”

He mimicked her leisurely perusal by allowing his gaze to travel from the fringed hem of her leggings to the beaded neckline of her tunic. “As do you.”

She ran her fingers down the length of one braid, seeming to trace the strip of leather woven into the dark strands of her hair. “I must be Athabascan today.”

Clay nodded, approving her choice of clothing.

Her chin lifted, a hopeful glint lighting her blue eyes. “We will know by day’s end, yes?”

They’d discussed Clay’s intention to visit with Co’Ozhii, and Lizzie had counted the days with him. Unconsciously, he ran his hand over his slicked-back hair, checking to see if the unruly strands remained in place. “I’ll visit her after the children are done with their lessons.”

Her brow pinched, a slight movement. “
I
will see her after the children are done.”

Clay crunched his brow tightly and moved beside the stove. “Lizzie . . .” He interjected a gentle warning into his tone.

She shook her head, her braids flopping. Her jaw jutted into a stubborn angle. “She is
my
grandmother, Clay. And she has cast
me
from her life. I must be the one to talk to her.” An ornery twinkle appeared in her eyes. “But you may come if you’ll be quiet and let me talk.” Her expression changed from impish to pleading. “You will honor my desire?”

Clay bit the inside of his lip. He’d planned this visit for weeks. Lying awake in the bark hut, he’d practiced the speech in his head so many times he could recite it in his dreams. He’d always envisioned going to Co’Ozhii on his own, convincing the woman to bend her stubborn pride and welcome Lizzie into her life.
He
wanted to be the one to bring peace between Co’Ozhii and Lizzie.

He gave a start, realization descending like a log beam on his head. What a selfish plan. He hung his head, asking God to speak His will into his heart. A whisper of peace floated on the fringes of his mind. Months ago, Lizzie had insisted he not intrude in her relationship with her grandmother. She’d set aside her stoic stubbornness in exchange for gentle persuasion, but maybe it would be best for him to abide by her wishes.

He drew in a deep breath, releasing it along with the selfish pride that made him want to run ahead of Lizzie and pave the way. “All right. You talk to her. I’ll go with you to offer my support, but I’ll stay quiet unless you ask me to speak.”

She caught his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you, Clay. I’ve been praying and asking Father-God to make the way to peace. Even if He says no, I will accept His will. You see . . .” Tears glimmered in her eyes. “I wanted to be with Pa, but God brought me to Himself instead. What He has for me is what is best for me. I will trust Him.”