Love Finds You in Glacier Bay, Alaska

by Tricia Goyer

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and a memory came back to her. It was of Dale and Robyn the night they told her they wanted to give her a forever family.

  The memory of that moment filled her mind.

  “You’re special, Ginny,” Dale had said, taking her hands in his.

  Robyn had placed her hands on Ginny’s shoulders. “You may wonder why you’ve had to go through all the stuff you have, but we’re confident that it happened so you can make your way to us. God’s gonna use your story to inspire others someday, and we’re going to be right there telling everyone that’s our girl. That’s Ginny Pierson.”

  “Pierson?”

  Robyn had embraced her then. “If you’ll accept us, we want to make you a part of our family—forever.”

  With the patter of the pounding rain stirring her soul, Ginny covered her face with her hands. The pain of the ache surprised her. Both the pain of what she had had and lost, and the realization of what she was on the verge of walking away from once again—someone who loved her just for her. Someone who wanted to protect and cherish her heart.

  Tears welled up like the rain outside the windows, but none came. To cry over that memory would take her back to the darkness of losing the only parents who’d ever accepted her. Maybe the tears didn’t come because tears meant sorrow, and as they sat on that empty stretch of road, it was hope that brightened in her heart.

  Brett gripped her hands tight, as if he didn’t want to let go. Maybe someone did want her. Maybe more than just one person…she’d just been too afraid to accept that.

  Her brother’s phone calls proved she was still part of the Pierson family, legal papers or not. And Brett…could she really believe what he was saying? If she did…well, that meant she needed to stay. But what did staying mean? Giving their relationship a chance? Staying in Gustavus? Going with him to Africa?

  It also meant walking away from the limelight, didn’t it? Walking away from the chance to prove that she wasn’t a castoff. A reject. A charity case.

  Ginny lowered her lashes. It was too much to think about now. She needed to make Brett know she believed him, but when she lifted her eyes and looked back into his, she realized he already knew.

  His face had softened. Even in the darkened cab of the truck she could see that. He looked at her, searching her face. He looked at her lips, then his gaze moved to her neck, her hair, and back to her eyes, where he drank her in. The attraction between them was as palpable as the tension. She wanted to scoot closer. To be pulled into his embrace. But to accept his love meant she had to do something about it. And even though she’d come all the way to Gustavus to know this answer—the truth of their love—she had no idea what to do with the truth.

  “I didn’t want to believe it,” she finally whispered. “Deep down I thought you were like my mom. Like Dale and Robyn in a way, too. I was afraid you would leave—would abandon me.”

  “Is that why you did the leaving first?”

  She nodded. “I suppose so.”

  The glimmer of headlights turning the corner appeared ahead.

  “I want to believe in you, Brett. I want to believe in us. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” She wasn’t sure if he heard her or if her words were lost in the sound of the truck’s engine.

  “If they see us parked they’re going to stop to make sure we’re not in trouble. And if they stop they’ll want to talk.” She knew Brett had heard her when his voice was lighter than before. Much lighter.

  Brett released her hands, put the truck into gear, and pressed on the gas, putting the truck in motion once again.

  She nodded, even though his eyes were focused on the road and not her. She searched his face in the shadows. For a split second, the truck’s interior was lit by the passing car, and Ginny was sure she saw a hint of a smile on his face.

  When he finally parked in front of Grandma Ethel’s house, she couldn’t help but reach over and take his hand. “I want to believe you. I want to trust.” Those were the only words that would come.

  He didn’t respond. Why should he? Did she really want him to explain his love? Wasn’t it enough to accept it?

  Chapter Thirty

  .......................

  April 12, 1929

  Grandfather,

  As I mentioned in my last missive, James wrote me a letter. It arrived when yours came but must have fallen between the cracks in the floor. Joseph found it.

  His face serious, though not angry, Clay held out his hand, and Joseph gave him the letter. Clay read it, his face expressionless. It was James up to his old stunts again, saying he loves me and wants me back.

  Oh, Grandfather, James and the life he represents—the dreams and hopes of being his wife, living in San Francisco’s society—seem so far away from me now. I haven’t thought of James for many weeks.

  Then with a look, Clay summoned me to the porch.

  A heaviness hung in the air, like a storm waiting to unburden itself. He handed me the smooth stationery. As I skimmed over James’s words, I felt only sickness to know that Clay had read them. Yet I didn’t see pain in his eyes, just patience as he waited for me to explain.

  I simply told him James and I were once engaged, but he broke off the engagement before I came to Alaska.

  Clay’s chest rose and fell.

  I longed to reach for his hand, but I refrained, waiting for his reaction. “I did love him—at least, I thought I did, once. But I don’t anymore.”

  “You weren’t attached when you came here?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t love him?”

  I shook my head, smiling to reassure him.

  He set the letter aside and wrapped me in his strong arms.

  Thank you, Grandfather, for introducing me to this man.

  I’ll write more later,

  Ellie Bell

  April 17, 1929

  Brother Peter,

  I aim to tell you what happened, so you’ll see why I could not ask your girl the question I long to ask—not yet.

  I know Ellie told you about that foul letter and Joseph’s plot to send her home. What he has against her, I don’t know, except a fierce jealousy on behalf of his mama. And, well, he’s holding on to that grief, sort of like I was, letting it fester into an unreasonable anger. He’s chosen to direct it at my Ellie. That’s why I can rein in my frustration at him, hoping to steer him back like a hurt dog, soft and careful.

  After our talk on the porch, I took Ellie’s hand and we strode indoors. I eyed each one of the children, but especially Joseph.

  “I see no need to explain,” I said, “except to say, no feelings linger for this James. She loves us now. That’s all.” I hung up my hat, picked up our bags, and peered at Ellie. “Where do you want these?”

  “Papa, I don’t think you read the letter.”

  “Yes, son, I did. Ellie is staying. For good. This is a conversation I won’t be having again.”

  Janey jerked as if registering what I said. “Does that mean you’re getting married?”

  I couldn’t help but shoot her a wink.

  Janey rushed to Ellie and hugged her. Zach followed with a leap into her arms. They squealed to the detriment of a person’s ears, and a grin spread over Linc’s face. Probably thinking about some invention to make the wedding better…

  In that moment I saw it. Our family, not the way it used to be, but different, new. A new life with a good woman, warm nights and happy days, like fresh growth in spring.

  Finally, I caught Joseph’s gaze.

  He looked shocked, horrified. I suppose his rile got the best of him, for he forgot himself and let loose on me.

  “What’s wrong with you? I’d never forgive my woman if she betrayed me.”

  I stepped toward him, my hand reached out. He grabbed the chair, crashed it down. Broke its back. Both Zach and Penny started up crying.

  I gripped his arm, hauled up the chair, and forced him down.

  The bile in his glare ate through me.
/>   “Go,” I said. “Cool off.”

  A moment of quiet followed. His gaze met mine, and a speck of regret, the child hidden underneath, peered up. Ellie must’ve seen it too; she laid a hand on my arm, looked at him. But then he thundered out the door. Two days, I didn’t see him. So I went looking. Found him, where else, at the Curtises’ big house, living in their son’s room. He barely said a word to me. Promised to come by to get his things.

  Have I lost my son, Brother Peter? How can I find joy in my love for Ellie while my son turns his back on me? My heart suffers a mighty struggle over this. After Adelaide died, I promised myself to keep my sights on my children first. My own desires, they come last. Am I a fool to think I can be happy? Might my boy come around, accept her, be like sunlight to me again? I tell you, I want to hope for that. I do hope for it.

  I know Ellie is a gift from God, not a test. And I accept that gift, gladly. But the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. What if Joseph makes camp in this rebellion? Do I marry Ellie anyway, knowing it’d mean losing my boy? He’s my son.

  Will you advise me, Brother Peter? I seek the Lord, but a fog spreads out before me. I can’t see my way.

  One thing I do know. In light of all this, I don’t see how I can marry Ellie just yet. The month cut-off date has come and gone, so I mean to write Reverend Martin in Hoonah, seeking an extension of his deadline.

  Ellie, kind and wise woman that she is, hasn’t even mentioned the wedding to me. She supports me, wants to help with Joseph (not that she can), and cares for the children with a love as real as the dawn. How I love that girl! I never thought I could again, but she’s gone and stolen my heart—which I gladly give. If only my boy would love her too.

  What hopes we had when we got back from Hoonah!

  Meanwhile, I’ve built an outbuilding for Linc and myself. With the new situation between Ellie and me, those Tlingit ladies are right. We shouldn’t be cohabitating. Linc says he’ll make a modern walkway to the house for me. I don’t encourage it.

  With Joseph gone, I’m appreciating my time with Linc. A comfort. Still not so fond of his inventions.

  Yours,

  Clay

  July 9, 1929

  Dear Grandfather,

  How I miss you. I hope you are doing wonderfully, feeling healthy and happy. I’ve written my last dozen or so letters to you as if they were stories rather than letters. I think the writing itself helps me sort through it all. But hearing from you will be the greatest comfort.

  It’s been three months since Joseph moved out. Clay has tried to reach him, but he won’t accept that his father is going to marry again. It seems the mere sight of me ignites his anger. Surely Joseph will learn to accept me. Clay and I pray to this end together and individually—we pray so hard! I know Clay would do anything for him.

  Despite the worry over Joseph, Clay and I grow ever closer. Guitar lessons often fill our evenings, and I’m getting good enough to play “Sweet Betsy from Pike” along with our little family band.

  I’m getting better at the chores, if you can believe that. Clay himself showed me how to can strawberries and even rutabagas (you really can’t avoid them here). I’m smiling as I think about that day—a bright oasis of laughter.

  Clay surprised himself by going on his circuit, preaching to the outlying settlements. He surmises the lost won’t wait for his boy to turn around. He goes for only a few days at a time, never wanting to be too far away.

  Our love has grown, not melodramatically as in those Saturday matinees, but gently, as we walk this road together.

  Yet as time goes on, the burden of Joseph’s ongoing estrangement sours our joy. I love Clay, Grandfather. But each day I worry. How can this work if his son won’t accept me? Honestly—and it crumbles my heart into little bits to even think it—I don’t know if I want to be a part of a family where I’m not welcome. I tried that before.

  What does it say about me if I can’t make my loved ones’ families accept me? As I sit here on our recently painted porch, gazing at the fresh white, I wish I could paint myself into what others want. Make myself good enough for them. I’ve never been able to, though. I don’t know if I ever will. At least I have you, Grandfather.

  Oh my, you must be downcast, reading all my gloomy thoughts.

  On a happier note, I’ve been teaching Janey to sew and design clothes. We’ve mastered fox fur shawls, by hand of course. I’d like to order a sewing machine from Sears and Roebuck come spring, a foot pump—not electric. I think the ladies around here would like it, maybe even over in Juneau. I never thought I’d get back to sewing. I was certainly naïve thinking I’d be able to start an Alaskan Wilderness Line and make lots of money. It makes me chuckle now. Janey has quite a gift for it.

  You should see how big Penny is growing. She’ll be two in October. The other day she called me Mama. I don’t think she should, not until Clay and I get married. If we get married.

  So much for the happier note.

  I wish I knew how you were doing. I’m wondering about Felix and hoping he hasn’t broken his promise to pay for your hospital bills. I know it’s in the Lord’s hands. Soon, I will hear from you. And you promised to come to the wedding, so maybe I’ll see you then. Whenever that may be. I’m not even officially engaged.

  I love you, Grandfather. I know you are praying for me.

  Ellie

  July 10, 1929

  Dear Brother Clay,

  Thank you for your message. Lester brought it yesterday. He’s leaving this morning, so I’ll write this in haste.

  “A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.” Proverbs 16:9. We had it all planned out, didn’t we? You were going to marry your Ellie, start up your circuit again, and all would be just fine. The fact that things have not worked out that way does not mean God has forgotten you, but that He has a better plan. Better than ours.

  As for Joseph, lay down your life for him, brother. Do whatever you must do. If it means postponing your wedding, so be it. He’s your son. God will use you in the life of your family—your first ministry. Always remember that.

  Of course, I am glad you’ve been able to resume your circuit. Grateful to hear the positive reports of prospective converts, but your priority is Joseph. Seek him, as Christ sought you when you were lost.

  Write again in a month if you’re able.

  In Christ,

  Rev. Bruce Martin

  P.S. Has Ellie learned to shoot the rifle yet?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  .......................

  Ginny had woken up early with thoughts of Brett on her mind, read a few letters, and then made a breakfast quiche for herself and Grandma.

  “Darling Ginny, this tastes wonderful,” Grandma Ethel gushed.

  Ginny agreed it did taste good; it was one of the few of Robyn’s recipes she’d memorized. Still, Grandma didn’t eat more than one small piece, and she looked a bit pale. Ginny was about to suggest that they have Jared come down and check her pulse—just to make sure everything was all right—when Grandma put down her fork and leveled her gaze at Ginny.

  “So, did you and Brett finally get to talk yesterday?”

  Her bluntness surprised Ginny.

  “What do you mean?”

  Grandma Ethel let out a heavy sigh. “Well, child, do you two love each other or not?”

  Ginny lowered her head and couldn’t help but smile. Her cheeks warmed. “To be perfectly honest, I think we do. We just don’t know what to do about it.”

  Grandma Ethel stood and carried her plate to the sink. When she returned, she lowered her face closer to Ginny’s. “You know I’m not one to butt my business into where it doesn’t belong, but both of you are so concerned about what to do. I’ve been worried ever since you two talked about running off to be missionaries. Don’t you realize it’s the doing that often gets us into trouble? It’s not the doing that makes God happy. It’s not about what we’ve done…it’s about what’s been done for us.”
<
br />   Ginny expected the lecture to continue, but instead Grandma Ethel pressed her lips tight, as if allowing the words to sink deep into Ginny’s heart.

  Yet instead of bringing peace, tension stirred within her. “I know you’re talking about God, and I’m thankful for all He’s done for me, but Grandma…” Ginny paused, trying to keep her voice steady. “It’s all the stuff that’s been done—to me mostly—that keeps holding me back.”

  “Have you ever read a biography worth reading? Seems like most of the book is all the stuff that goes wrong. It’s only the last quarter or so when God starts making things right.” Grandma Ethel pointed a finger into the air. “Think of Ellie’s story. How interested would you have been if it was just one happy letter after another? If she’d married that James in San Francisco and lived a life of ease filled with rich folks and fine parties?”

  Ginny rolled the sleeves down on her sweater in order to cover her hands. Hoping to hide their shaking. “I would have read it. I would have found it interesting—”

  “For a while, maybe,” Grandma Ethel interrupted. “But would you have been changed by Ellie’s story then? Would anyone have? She’d be just like thousands of others who lived and died and are forgotten. Ellie, on the other hand, will never be forgotten. Not by me, not by the people of Gustavus and Glacier Bay, nor, I have a feeling, by you.

  “It’s hard to know, isn’t it, whether the things we face are just because the world is full of sin and sinful people, or if God is working out a plan,” Grandma continued. “I happen to think it’s both. There’s sin, but through it all, He takes the mess we make and paints a masterpiece. In fact, I’m quite certain that before God can ever bless a woman—and use her to impact many—He uses the hammer, the file, and the furnace to do a holy work.”

  Ginny frowned. “And what if that person doesn’t want that? What if she just wants to be like everyone else and live an easy, successful life?” She thought of her apartment, her designer clothes, her things in LA… and so much more that could soon be hers.