Free A Whisper of Peace by Kim Vogel Sawyer

longer of our band.”
    Clay inwardly reeled. Lizzie was Shruh’s granddaughter? How could he disown his own flesh? “But—”
    “We will speak of this no more!” The man lurched to his feet and stood glaring down at Clay. “You have come to teach. This you must learn—traitors are banished. And if you choose to befriend a traitor, you become one yourself.” He spun on his heel and entered his cabin, closing the door firmly behind him.
    Clay recognized the action—he’d been dismissed. Trying to speak to Shruh or Co’Ozhii again today would only cause conflict—conflict he didn’t dare stir if he hoped to win the tribe’s trust.
    His heart heavy, he scuffed his way to his own dwelling. Vivian had committed to teaching Lizzie. If she went back on her word, it would set a poor Christian example to the native woman, but if she honored her promise, the band might very well reject Vivian and him. He looked at the sky and held his arms outward, just as he had to Shruh. Father, what should we do?

Chapter Seven
    Clay tossed and turned. The pine needles beneath his wool blanket shifted until there was a hollow in the middle. His backside connected with the dirt floor, and he grunted in frustration. Rolling to his knees, he tossed aside the heavy blanket and used his palms to sweep the needles into a pile again. Then he stretched the blanket over the mound and flopped down. He was more comfortable, but he still couldn’t sleep.
    How long would it take to adjust to the sun sending forth its light well into the nighttime hours? He and Vivian had been in the village for almost a month now, and his body still didn’t seem to understand it must sleep, even though the sun remained awake. Vivian hadn’t complained, but dark circles rimmed her eyes, and he assumed her sleep was also affected by the lingering sunlight. Maybe he should go whisper at her hut door—if she lay awake, too, they could talk about the blue-eyed woman named Lizzie and try to find a way to reach out to her without angering the village leaders.
    He slipped from the makeshift bed, tugged on his boots, then stepped outside. Were it not for the silence in the village, he would have thought it was early evening rather than close to midnight. He headed toward Vivian’s hut several yards east of his. A few dogs, tethered to stakes, lifted their heads as he passed by. Clay held his breath, but—apparently recognizing him as harmless—none barked or snarled. He heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to rouse the entire village. He reached Vivian’s hut and tapped lightly on the doorframe.
    “Who’s there?” Her voice replied at once, confirming his suspicion that she couldn’t sleep, either.
    “It’s me, Viv.” He kept his voice low, glancing toward the village cabins to be sure he hadn’t disturbed anyone. Rustling sounded from inside Vivian’s hut, and then she tugged the blanket aside. Her hair hung in unruly waves across her shoulders, but she was fully dressed. She flipped her hand, inviting him inside. He ducked beneath the short door opening, and she dropped the blanket back in place.
    Hugging herself, she blinked at him in alarm. “Is something wrong?”
    “I couldn’t sleep.”
    She grimaced. “Me either. It never really feels like night, does it?”
    Clay shook his head. He gestured to the low bench he’d built out of half a log and two chunks of wood. They sat side by side, and Clay shifted slightly to face Vivian. Soft light filtered through cracks in the bark walls, offering enough illumination for Clay to recognize tiredness etched into her forehead and unsmiling lips. She needed rest—he should go. He started to rise, but she put her hand over his arm.
    “I can’t sleep because of the light. Why can’t you sleep?”
    He sank back down, releasing a sigh. “I’ve been thinking about Lizzie.”
    A funny little smirk appeared on Vivian’s face.
    He frowned. “Not like that .” But his heart twinged in his chest, belying