A Whisper of Peace (25 page)

Vivian bit down on her lower lip, clinging to Clay’s arm. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he drew in a breath that expanded his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but a childish screech intruded. Vivian jumped back as Clay dashed to the door. The men clustered behind him, murmuring in confusion.

A little girl raced through the center of the village toward the mission, her bare feet raising a small cloud of dust. Tears streamed down her face. Clay stepped out to meet her, and she fell into his arms. She peered up at him with wide, fear-filled eyes and gasped, “Mister Clay, you come. My vitse—she is asleep and Etu cannot wake her. You must wake her for us. Come! Come!”

Lizzie tugged the gate aside and stepped into the dog pen. She crouched down and allowed the furry beasts to swarm her. She relished the warmth of their licking tongues while shifting to avoid their gleefully wagging tails. Her hands stroked napes and scratched ears while she murmured words of endearment. But even while she accepted the dogs’ affection, her thoughts drifted elsewhere. Back to the village, to the log enclosure constructed by Clay Selby. His words rang in her memory.

“There’s nothing to forgive
,
”
he’d said. She’d shot him. She might have killed him. But he held no grudge. Lizzie wrapped her arms around Martha’s thick neck while the other dogs continued to bump her shoulders, her back, her hands, begging for her attention. But she barely felt them, reveling in the wonderful feeling of release Clay’s words had offered.

And then he’d prayed. His petition for reconciliation between her grandparents and herself echoed again and again in her soul. Deep within her breast, hope flickered. Would God hear? Would God answer? Might her mother, at long last, be able to rest in peace? She released Martha and pushed to her feet. The dogs pressed against her legs, making it difficult for her to move, but she wound her way between them and left the pen.

She’d never found comfort in sitting beside the patch of ground that cradled her mother’s body, but for some reason her feet carried her to the back corner of her plot of ground—to the mound of rocks that marked Mama’s resting place. She knelt, placing her palms over two rough, sun-warmed stones.

“Mama, I didn’t understand until today what you meant about me being more white than Athabascan. Vitse shared the tale of her grandmother—your great-grandmother. Seeing you repeat her grandmother’s choice has embittered her against us. But another white man, a man named Clay,” —her heart began to thud wildly in her chest as the little flicker of hope tried to ignite a fire of belief—“prayed for peace to bloom between Vitse and Vitsiy and me. If his prayers are answered, then you, too, will have peace. I wish peace for you, Mama.”

Lizzie crunched her eyes closed, seeing behind her closed lids her mother kneeling in prayer with her face aimed toward the mighty mountain Denali. Lizzie wanted to seek Denali, too, but fear that the peak would be shrouded in clouds kept her lids firmly closed. She couldn’t bear to have her hopes dashed. Not now.

She swallowed the tears that formed in the back of her throat and whispered, “I’ll wait to see if peace comes, and then I’ll do as you asked and leave here. I will seek my father and live in his world, where you said I belong. But, Mama?” She dared open her eyes, her gaze slowly lifting above the trees in search of the mountain’s snowy peak. “My heart longs to stay here, with Clay Selby, just as you must have longed to be with Pa and my great-great-grandmother must have longed for a lifetime with my white great-great-grandfather. And I—”

Her words fell silent, her hopes plummeting. No snowy peak glistened in the sunshine. Only gray, wispy clouds. Disenchantment assailed her. She hung her head, tears burning behind her nose. Her grandmother had called her foolish, and she now accepted the accusation. Only a fool would place her hope in a God she couldn’t see.

Chapter Twenty-One

C
lay forked another serving of smoked salmon onto a flat piece of bark and handed it to Etu. The boy sank to his haunches and began eating at once. Clay, watching Etu, heaved a sorrowful sigh. With their grandmother’s passing, Etu and his younger sister were on their own, but at least for this day they would be well fed. As was customary, every family in the village had contributed food for the funeral dinner. The children, rather than refusing to eat, took full advantage of the potlatch by sampling everything from caribou to steamed squash.

Clay helped himself to something that resembled mashed sweet potatoes and sat on the ground next to Etu. Across the small clearing, Vivian shared a log seat with Naibi. The child sat so close, she was nearly in Vivian’s lap. Vivian kept her arm snugly around Naibi’s shoulders, occasionally leaning down to whisper something in the little girl’s ear. Watching the pair, Clay experienced a rush of appreciation for Vivian’s tender care of the child. Naibi needed a woman’s affection.

The little girl hadn’t left Vivian’s side since several village men had carried the lifeless body of her grandmother from their ramshackle log home three days ago. The elders would meet at the end of the day to decide with whom to place the children in the village. Clay intended to ask permission to bring Etu and Naibi into the mission. Their grandmother’s death had turned everyone’s focus from Lizzie to the children, but as soon as the day of mourning ended, Shruh would no doubt resume his demand for Clay and Vivian to denounce their friendship with Lizzie. Maybe their willingness to provide a home to the children would soften the elderly tribe leader toward them, and he would allow them to stay even if they chose to continue seeing Lizzie.

Etu plopped the empty piece of bark aside and poked Clay on the shoulder. “Mister Clay? Naibi and I have no gifts.”

The boy’s worried face pierced Clay. Traditionally, the family of the deceased provided gifts to every person attending the burial ceremony. Etu proved his desire to be responsible by wishing to bestow thank-you gifts to those attending his grandmother’s funeral, but Clay assumed the village would extend understanding if the two youngsters didn’t observe the practice.

He slung his arm around Etu’s skinny shoulders. “It’s all right, Etu. I think the people know it’s hard for you and Naibi to find enough gifts for everyone.”

Etu’s face didn’t clear. “But my grandmother—she will have no honor without gifts.” Tears glittered in the boy’s dark eyes. “I have a basket of rocks we collected from the riverbank. They are pretty. Could we give one to everyone? As a gift?”

Clay’s throat tightened. The more elaborate the gifts, the more honor was given to the deceased. Many might look upon rocks as a very inadequate gift, but Etu was offering the best he had. He tousled the boy’s thick hair. “You get the basket, and I will ask your sister to help you distribute them.”

A relieved smile lit Etu’s face. He shot off.

Clay rose and wove his way through the gathered villagers to Vivian and Naibi. He placed his hand on Vivian’s shoulder. “Are you all right?” Dark circles under Vivian’s eyes evidenced her lack of sleep.

She offered a weary smile. “Naibi is missing someone.”

Clay frowned. Of course the child was missing someone—her grandmother.

Naibi leaned against Vivian’s shoulder and peered up at Clay with wide brown eyes. “I want Missus Lizzie. I wish she was here.”

Clay’s heart caught. Lizzie had kept her promise to stay away. Knowing she was holding herself aloof from him and Vivian made him long for her presence.

Naibi tugged his pant leg. “Missus Lizzie is my friend. I thought all your friends came to the potlatch.”

Vivian sent Clay a helpless look. Clay hunkered down and used a strand of Naibi’s hair to tickle her nose. He responded in the child’s language. “Lizzie does not live in the village, so she probably does not know about your grandmother.”

Naibi sighed. “Can we go tell her? I want her to know Vitse is gone.”

Etu panted to a halt beside Clay. Rocks rattled in the bottom of the woven basket he cradled against his stomach. “Come, Naibi. We will give everyone a rock for coming to Vitse’s funeral.”

Naibi hunched her shoulders. Tears pooled in her eyes. “I want to keep my pretty rocks.”

Etu stomped his foot. “You will come
now
. The guests will not honor Vitse without gifts.”

Clay curled his hand around the back of Etu’s neck and gave a gentle squeeze. “Since you are the head of your family now, you present gifts to everyone, Etu.”

Etu frowned. “But Vitse is
her
grandmother, too. She should help.”

Clay propped his hands on his knees and looked directly into Etu’s eyes. “But Naibi is just a little girl, and her heart is hurting. Let Naibi stay here with Missus Vivian.”

Naibi stood and smoothed the skirt of her calico dress. “It is all right, Mister Clay. I will help Etu.” Resignedly, the child scuffed away after her brother.

Vivian watched them go, her face sad. She patted the spot on the log Naibi had vacated, and Clay sat. Vivian said, “What’s going to happen to them, Clay?”

The concern in her tone warmed him. Surely she’d agree with his plan to take the children in. “I intend to ask Shruh to let them stay with us.”

Vivian’s head swiveled so quickly she nearly unseated herself. “With us?”

He frowned, surprised by her stunned reaction. “Well, yes. You’ve had Naibi with you the past two nights, just as Etu has stayed with me. They seem secure with us. I’m sure Shruh would allow us to provide for them.”

“I didn’t know we were opening a boarding school.”

Clay nibbled his dry lower lip, pondering Vivian’s strange response. He replied cautiously. “Providing sanctuary to Etu and Naibi doesn’t mean we’re starting a boarding school. The other children will attend during the day, and the families will come for services on Sunday, just as we’ve planned.”
If I ever finish the building
. “Etu and Naibi don’t have any other relatives. What are they supposed to do?”

“Have you mentioned this to the children? Have you made promises to them?”

“I asked Etu last night if he would like to stay in the mission house with us. He seemed very relieved to know someone wanted him.”

Vivian looked away, her lips twitching as if she’d placed something sour on her tongue. Clay grabbed her hand. “Vivian, what’s the matter?”

She jerked her hand free. “You’re making promises we might not be able to keep. I don’t even know if—” She clamped her lips together.

An uneasy tingle crept across Clay’s scalp. “Viv, what are you saying?”

She whirled on him. “Clay, I’ve needed to talk to you about something for several days, but we haven’t had time alone. I received a letter from my aunt in Hampshire County. She asked me—”

“Clay Selby?”

Vivian folded her arms over her chest and stared off to the side. Clay looked up into Da’ago’s solemn face.

“It is time to say good-bye to Nara. The children want you to say some words, too.”

Clay’s heart turned over in his chest. He wasn’t Gwich’in, yet he was wanted and needed by two small children. God had to allow him to remain here in Gwichyaa Saa. “I’m coming.” Da’ago strode away, and Clay turned to Vivian. “Are you coming?”

She rose, her face resigned. “Of course I’m coming. Naibi and Etu need us. But I must speak with you this evening. It’s very important.”