A Whisper of Peace (28 page)

Clay pounded an upright half log into place, finishing the frame for the doorway leading to the second sleeping room. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stepped back to admire the fruits of his labor. Portioning off the front third of the mission school to create sleeping rooms resulted in a much smaller sanctuary than he’d originally planned, but careful arrangements of benches would provide enough seating space for both school work and church services.

He headed to the water bucket for a drink. After guzzling two full dippers of water, he splashed a third over his face, shuddering as the cool water dribbled down his hot skin. He glanced toward the village, frowning at how few people gathered in their yards as the evening hours approached. Many of the villagers remained in their cabins rather than mingling together as was their normal custom. The fever had everyone nervous.

Clay whispered a heartfelt prayer for the illness to run its course quickly without claiming any other lives, then he headed back inside to determine what else he could accomplish before bedtime. He ran his hand along the newly constructed wall, noting the large cracks between logs that would require chinking. He might have been able to get a large portion of the chinking completed today if he’d kept Etu with him instead of letting him go to Lizzie’s with Vivian. But knowing the children would soon have to say good-bye to her, he’d chosen to allow them the day together. Besides, Vivian had put off telling Lizzie of her plans for too long. His heart panged. He wasn’t ready to say good-bye to his stepsister or the blue-eyed native woman. He’d be very alone when they were both gone.

His stomach rumbled, and he checked his timepiece. Nearly seven o’clock. He frowned. Why hadn’t Vivian and the children returned? They’d left right after breakfast. He hadn’t expected them to stay away all day. He scrounged in the barrels and crates lurking in the corner of the mission building and found a half loaf of bread, some dried meat, and a tin can of peaches. A dismal supper, but far better than nothing. He sat at the makeshift table and ate his simple meal while watching out the window for Vivian’s return.

Not until a little after eight did she and the children emerge from the brush. Etu held a fat grouse by its feet, and Naibi carried a small burlap bag. They both dashed to Clay when they spotted him sitting outside the building.

“Mister Clay, Mister Clay!” Etu waved the grouse in Clay’s face. “Missus Lizzie helped me make a snare, and already I caught a bird! Missus Vivian says she will cook it for our breakfast!”

Clay duly admired the bird before turning to Naibi. He asked in their language, “And what did you catch?”

Naibi giggled. “Mushrooms. But I only had to pick them.”

Clay smacked his lips, and both children laughed. He gestured to the mission door and spoke in simple English. They’d never learn it if he didn’t use it regularly. “Put your prizes inside. Then wash. When you are clean, I will show you your new sleeping room.”

The children raced for the door. Clay caught Vivian’s elbow and drew her to the far corner of the building, away from the children’s listening ears. “You were gone much longer than I expected. Did you have a good day with Lizzie?” A little prickle of jealousy teased the back of his heart.

“We spent most of the afternoon sewing, and she showed Etu how to make that snare.” A soft smile lit Vivian’s tired face. “He was so proud when he found the grouse caught in it. His chest puffed so much I thought he might pop the buttons off his shirt.”

Clay chuckled, imagining the boy’s delight. “Did you tell her you plan to leave soon?”

Vivian’s smile faded. “Yes. And we had a talk that . . .” She paused, sucking in her lips and pinching her brow. “Clay, I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I?”

“You mean by leaving?”

She nodded.

Clay shrugged. “Viv, I can’t tell you what’s right for you. You have to make the choice. Your aunt needs you—I understand why you want to go.”

Vivian hung her head, heaving a mighty sigh. “I want to go . . . but I also want to stay. I’m very confused.”

“Have you prayed about it?” His father’s standard question to every dilemma slid easily from Clay’s lips.

“Yes, but—”

“Mister Clay!” Etu and Naibi thundered to Clay’s side. Naibi tugged at his shirt while Etu held out his hands. The boy said, “We wash our hands and faces. Show us our room now!”

Clay allowed the children to drag him toward the mission door, but he looked at Vivian over his shoulder. Her forlorn expression pulled at his heart. As soon as he got the children settled in their room, he planned to sit down and try to draw out Vivian’s reasons for melancholy.

But by the time he’d helped them arrange their beds and few belongings in their new space, Vivian had already retreated into her hut. He decided she’d had a long day and he should let her rest. He headed to his room in the mission school with the silent promise to carve out time to speak with her tomorrow.

Chapter Twenty-Four

C
lay handed Vivian her valise. Apprehension churned in his middle as he looked beyond her to the paddleboat that would transport her to Fairbanks. From there, she would catch a train for the second leg of her lengthy journey through Canada, into the United States, and eventually to Massachusetts. “I don’t feel right, sending you by yourself.” Anything could happen to a woman traveling alone.

Vivian lips twitched into a funny half smile. “I’ll be all right, Clay. Don’t worry.” She released a light laugh. “These next weeks of travel will be good for me. I’ll have to depend on myself rather than on someone else.”

“Remember God is only a prayer away,” Clay said. He committed to praying daily for her safety and strength. “He’ll always be there for you.”

“I know.” The words carried surety, but her tone lacked confidence. Before he could say anything else, she tipped forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Take good care of Etu and Naibi. As soon as they’ve learned to write, have them send me letters.” Tears flooded her eyes. “I . . . I shall miss them.” She tugged a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed her cheeks.

The paddleboat captain blasted the air horn, and Vivian jumped. Their gazes connected, and he said, “It’s time.” She gave a slight nod, and he escorted her onto the boat. At the end of the gangplank, he gave her a hug and whispered, “Take care, Viv. Send me word when you get there, and I pray you will—” He stopped himself before he uttered, “heal.” He wished he’d had the time to help her overcome whatever fear or pain held her captive. He felt as though he’d failed her somehow.

“You write, too, so I know how the people of Gwichyaa Saa are faring.” She backed up slowly, the valise bouncing against her knees. Her eyes glittered, but she blinked several times and gave him a wobbly smile. “And take the children to see Lizzie—she’ll be lonely without their company.”

“I will—as often as I can.” His heart skipped a beat as he made the promise. He wanted the children to have time with Lizzie, but he wanted time with her, too. All too soon, she would leave, and he would lose the opportunity to share God’s unfailing love with her. As if in response to his inner thoughts, his feet shuffled backward, carrying him to the shore.

Workers dashed out to release the restraining ropes, setting the paddleboat free of the moorings. Clay waved his hand over his head. “Good-bye, Viv! God bless you!”

She waved back, wind tossing little strands of hair around her face. Then she turned from the spindled railing and left the deck. With Vivian gone, Clay had no reason to remain on the bank staring across the water, but his feet remained rooted for several minutes. Behind him, men loaded boxes, barrels, and sacks into waiting wagons. Voices—some angry, others pleading—filled the air. Life in Fort Yukon went on as usual, but for Clay, everything had changed. He was now on his own.

But didn’t you just tell Vivian God is only a prayer away?

The admonition might have come from the heavens, it resounded so loudly in his head. He was the worst kind of hypocrite, standing there feeling alone after lecturing Vivian on the same topic. Slapping his hat onto his head, he turned and forced himself to wend his way through the milling activity of the docks to the center of Fort Yukon in search of the doctor. After several inquiries, someone directed him to one of the local saloons.

Unpleasant aromas—stale tobacco smoke, yeasty beer, and men’s body odors—assaulted his nose as he stepped into the rough wood structure. He breathed as shallowly as possible as he made his way to the bar, where the doctor hunched over a tall mug of amber liquid. He cleared his throat to gain the man’s attention. The doctor turned his bleary gaze in Clay’s direction and grunted.

“Sir, I wondered if I could purchase some medicine from you.” Clay explained the malady spreading from one villager to another. “I fear there will be deaths if we’re not able to bring the fever under control.”

The doctor took a swig of his drink and backhanded his lips. “Have it here in Fort Yukon, too. Somebody brought it in and it’s been bouncing all around town. Spreads like a bad habit.”

“So you have a medicine that works?”

“Nope.” The man pushed off the stool and stood before Clay, wavering slightly. “Just been telling everybody to keep to themselves—less likely to catch it that way.”

Clay restrained a snort—the doctor might be telling people to keep to themselves, but based on the number of folks he’d just seen working at the docks and frequenting the stores, they weren’t listening. “So there’s no treatment?”

“Treatment’s simple—ply ’em with whiskey for the cough, keep the patient cool, and hold off on feeding them ’til the fever’s run its course.”

Considering how long some of the villagers had suffered from the fever, they might very well starve the victims to death if he followed the doctor’s advice. Clay scowled at the man. “Are you sure this is what you’re telling everyone, or is the treatment only for the natives?”

The doctor scowled back. He pointed a stubby finger at Clay. “Don’t be hurling insults at me, young man. I took a pledge to treat all folks the same. I’m telling you what I’d advise anybody, and that’s a fact.” The man whirled toward the barkeeper. “Sell this fellow the biggest bottle of whiskey you got.” He squinted at Clay. “Tablespoon as needed to stop the cough. That’s the best I can do for you.”

———

Even though Clay knew he should hurry back to the village—he’d left Etu and Naibi in the care of an older Athabascan girl named Nayeli—he decided to make a stop at Lizzie’s cabin and check on her well-being. Vivian hadn’t mentioned Lizzie coughing or seeming ill, but he’d seen how quickly the sickness could strike. He’d rest easier if he knew she was all right.

As he approached her clearing, he heard her dogs bark in warning. Having had a bullet bounce off his skull once, he didn’t care to repeat the experience. He paused and cupped his hands beside his mouth. “Lizzie! Lizzie Dawson! It’s me—Clay. Can I come onto your yard?”

A shrill whistle pierced the air, and the dogs fell silent. Then he heard her call, “Come ahead.”

His pulse immediately sped. He pressed his palm to his chest, willing his heart to settle down. The threat of being fired upon was gone—so why the racing heartbeat? He pushed through the brush to enter her yard. And when he caught sight of her, his heart fired into his throat and lodged, making it difficult for him to draw a breath.

Lizzie stood just outside her cabin, attired in a buttery, swoop-skirted gown bedecked with layers of frothy lace. The pale yellow accented her glimmering hair of darkest night and made her eyes appear even more vividly blue. He came to a stumbling halt, staring in shock at the change. Vivian had worked a miracle in transforming the earthy native woman into a lady of culture.

“Y-you’re beautiful.” Clay spoke without thinking.

Lizzie toyed with a stray strand of hair that lay along her long, graceful neck. “Th-thank you.” She drew her hands down the length of the gown, her expression bashful. “I was missing Vivian, so I tried on one of the dresses she gave me. I . . . I did not realize I would have anyone visit.”

Clay gulped, happy he’d taken the time to stop by. He wouldn’t have wanted to miss seeing Lizzie in such finery. He whistled through his teeth, shaking his head in wonder. “You will certainly set the city of San Francisco on its ear when you arrive.”

She took a step closer, revealing a bare foot beneath the gown’s hem. Her dusky toes poking out from the flurry of lace amused him. “I don’t care about the city. I only care about one man.”

Clay nearly staggered. “Do . . . do you have a beau in San Francisco?”

“A beau?” Her brow puckered for a moment, then cleared. “No. My father is there.”

Clay’s jaw dropped. “You
know
your father?” He regretted his impulsive outburst when she folded her arms over her chest and gave him a stony glare.

“Of course I do. He built this cabin. He lived here with my mother and me until my twelfth year.”

Clay gentled his voice. “And you’ve been in touch with him over the years? He wants you to come to California?”