A Whisper of Peace

Chapter Twenty-One





Clay 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.”





Vivian lay on her side, facing Naibi, who slept soundly beside her. Dried tears left shiny trails on the child’s cheeks. She’d finally cried herself to sleep half an hour ago. As much as it had pained Vivian to listen to the child’s mournful sobs, she couldn’t deny impatience at being forced to put off her conversation with Clay again.

After the burial, the villagers had danced well into the evening hours. She and Clay had stayed for the dancing, and Clay even joined in—although he’d looked ridiculously out of place in his black wool suit alongside the embellished buckskin tunics of the other dancers. His participation seemed to comfort the children, however, so even if the custom was very different from the solemn funeral affairs of home, Vivian hadn’t complained.

When everyone returned to their cabins, she’d asked Clay to join her in the mission building. But Etu clung to Clay’s arm, and Naibi clung to Vivian’s waist, and Clay had suggested they put off their talk until tomorrow. Would she ever have the chance to tell Clay she needed to leave?

Or maybe I’m not meant to leave.

The thought had teased her mind since Aunt Vesta’s letter had arrived. She shifted on the bed, cringing when the pine needles beneath her crackled. But Naibi didn’t stir. Vivian carefully rolled to her back and stared at the dark bark ceiling. What should she do?

When she’d stated her intentions to accompany Clay to Alaska and assist him in establishing the mission, her mother and stepfather had done their best to discourage her. They told her the work would be too hard, the frontier too rigorous for her. But finally, they’d given their blessing, and Vivian had inwardly celebrated. She’d have the opportunity to prove herself capable and useful. She’d fully intended to stay in Alaska forever.

Until the letter came, informing her of Uncle Matthew’s stroke. Aunt Vesta needed her. When she’d needed somewhere to go—when Mother didn’t want her—her aunt and uncle had taken her in. They’d offered the love and security Mother, in her grief and anger over Papa’s passing, was unable to give. How could she deny her aunt’s request?

She had to go to Massachusetts. Clay would understand. He was strong and able—he’d be able to run the mission by himself. What did he need her for, anyway? Cooking, cleaning, teaching the children to read . . . Would he be able to do all of that and preach, too? Vivian pushed aside the arguments that filled her mind. He could hire a native woman to cook and clean. As for the teaching, he knew how to read and write. Anyone who knew how to perform the tasks could show someone else how to do them.

Even if she had only a few snatches of time with Clay tomorrow, a few minutes would be enough to say what needed saying. She practiced the statement, whispering into the quiet night, “Clay, Aunt Vesta needs me and I’m going to Huntington.” She waited for a feeling of satisfaction to wash over her, but instead a cloak of dread seemed to fall from the ceiling and smother her.

Naibi wriggled, moaning in her sleep. Vivian automatically reached out to rub the child’s back. The child quieted, curling her body until it nestled against Vivian’s side.

When Vivian finally fell asleep much later, tears were still drying on her cheeks.