By Kim Vogel Sawyer
Ostracized via her tribe due to her white father, Lizzie Dawson lives by myself within the mountains of Alaska, working towards the methods of her humans while she is living within the small cabin her father outfitted for her mom. She goals of reconciling together with her grandparents to meet her mother's death request, yet she has now not but came across the way to bridge the distance that separate her from her tribe.Clay Selby has continuously desired to be like his father, a missionary who holds an excellent love for the local humans and has introduced many to God. Clay and his stepsister, Vivian, arrive in Alaska to establish a church and college one of the Athbascan humans. Clay is completely inquisitive about this goal...until he meets a tender, self sustaining Indian lady with the main notable blue eyes he is ever seen.But Lizzie is obviously no longer a part of the tribe, and befriending her may need dire effects for his challenge. Will Clay be compelled to choose from his wish to minister to the natives and the quiet nudging of his center?
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Extra resources for A Whisper of Peace
If she didn’t have a village, how did she survive? ” Clay pushed to his feet and staggered a bit finding his balance on his tired legs. Vivian shook her head, peering in the direction the woman had disappeared. ” Clay chuckled. Catching the handle on the carpetbag, he set off again. “Didn’t Pa tell you the people might have difficulty accepting us at first? ” Was that why she’d run? Had someone mistreated her in the past? Vivian huffed along beside him, stirring up dried pine needles and decaying leaves with her skirts.
She’d been useless in the face of past disasters. If her stepbrother tumbled from his perch and was hurt or killed, what would she do? ” He grinned and waved, swinging his feet in a careless manner that sent shivers of fear down Vivian’s spine. “Two more beams to tie, then I’ll start layering on the pine boughs we collected to hold the sod roof. ” He began scooting his way toward the next crosspiece. Vivian, unwilling to witness his topple, spun to face the children. Using her limited Athabascan speech—thankfully, it was similar enough to the Kiowa language she needn’t be mute before the natives—and many hand gestures, she eventually communicated her wishes for the children’s assistance.
Lord, grant us safe passage, please. He’d offered the same prayer before boarding each train, stagecoach, and riverboat between here and Oklahoma, but it had never been as heartfelt as in that moment. He took Vivian’s hand and helped her settle in the canoe’s belly. Then, gingerly, he stepped in. The vessel sank another few inches, but water didn’t pour over the sides. Relieved, Clay sat next to Vivian and leaned against the accordion box. Burke clambered in, causing the canoe to rock, and Clay grabbed the edge with one hand and Vivian with the other.