By Kim Vogel Sawyer
Ostracized through her tribe due to her white father, Lizzie Dawson lives by myself within the mountains of Alaska, training the methods of her humans at the same time she is living within the small cabin her father equipped for her mom. She desires of reconciling together with her grandparents to meet her mother's loss of life request, yet she has no longer but stumbled on the way to bridge the space that separate her from her tribe.Clay Selby has continually desired to be like his father, a missionary who holds a very good 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 interested by this goal...until he meets a tender, self sustaining Indian lady with the main awesome blue eyes he is ever seen.But Lizzie is obviously no longer a part of the tribe, and befriending her may have dire results for his venture. Will Clay be compelled to select from his wish to minister to the natives and the quiet nudging of his middle?
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She hoped her dogs were the only animals that had picked up the scent of the kill. She had no desire to fight a grizzly for her moose. But she’d do it if she had to—she needed the meat as well as the hide. If she had to fight, the dogs would help. Their faithfulness to her knew no end. “I must go to work now,” she told the dogs. ” The dogs, as if able to understand, leapt in circles, their white teeth biting at the air in happiness. Still laughing softly, Lizzie hurried to the cabin to retrieve her skinning knife.
Of refined white men, like Pa. And they’d come to teach the children white men’s ways. Thoughts rolled through her mind so rapidly she had difficulty grasping them before one faded to another. She must go to her father, yet she had no knowledge of the white men’s world. . so might they be willing to teach Lizzie how to be white? Her fingers tightened on Martha’s ruff. She pushed the idea away. The white people were teaching in the village. And she wasn’t welcome there. The white man and woman would be of no use to her.
You’re an Athabascan, Yellow Flower. Your skills of moccasin making and salmon drying aren’t well respected in San Francisco. You’d feel out of place in my city. ” Pa’s deep voice echoed in Lizzie’s memory, competing with the heartrending sounds of deep distress that had poured from her gentle mother’s lips. But Pa had turned away from Mama’s tears, tugged Lizzie’s braid, and said, “Take care of your mama. Be strong for her. ” Lizzie pulled back and cupped the dog’s face in her hands. “Until Mama’s dying day, I did what Pa asked of me.