not marry just for security,” she answered aloud. “And yes, I will look for work, but not in San Francisco. I’ll not stay here any longer than it will take me to go home and pack my things. I’ll find a hotel room for tonight and however many days it takes to procure passage to Seattle. I’ll leave as soon as I can!” She moved her gaze about the circle of men again. “And how dare any of you talk about forgiving me! I am not the one who needs forgiving! I am the one who will be praying that God forgives all of you for what you’ve done today!”
With that, Elizabeth quickly left the brick building that had been built next to Christ Church as a gathering hall for potlucks and the like. She rushed around behind it, clinging to the envelope of money. She let the tears come then, deep sobs of humiliation, disappointment, mourning for her dead father and mother, and fear of the unknown. What choice did she have now but to go and find Peter? All she wanted was to be with her brother, the only family she had left.
“Lord Jesus, help me do this,” she wept. How afraid Jesus Himself must have been so many times, but He trusted God to give Him the strength and wisdom necessary to bear the accusations thrown at Him, and to travel where others dared not go. Now Elizabeth knew that she must do the same.
Chapter Two
Thou hast rebuked the proud that are cursed, which do err from Thy commandments. Remove from me reproach and contempt; for I have kept Thy testimonies.
—Psalms 119:21 & 22
Feeling guilty over her anger, too guilty even to pray about it, Elizabeth stuffed clothing into two worn carpet bags that had belonged to her mother. Tears stung her eyes at the longing in her heart to be able to turn to the woman now. The day three years ago that the police informed the family that Liz’s father had been murdered was the day Edna Breckenridge’s health began slipping downhill. She never really recovered from the loss of her husband, but she insisted that no one in the family lose faith in God because of it.
Still, this last hurt did indeed bring a challenge to Elizabeth’s own faith. What more terrible things lay in wait for her? What had she done to deserve this? First, her father, a faithful servant of the Lord, cruelly murdered while bravely ministering to miserable drunks and thieves and prostitutes who plied their dastardly trades on the Barbary Coast. Then her brother, another faithful servant of the Lord, as well as her best friend, felt a calling to follow the hordes of men headed for the Yukon to find gold. God meant for Peter to go there, too, and to build a church and bring His word to men who would too easily forget God even existed in their quest to get rich, or so her brother believed.
After Peter left, one of the more respected deacons, Thomas Selby, had offered to take over as preacher for the church. Deep inside, Liz had always suspected Selby of wanting the job even when her father was alive. Even her mother had doubted that Selby had anything like the abiding faith and love for mankind in his heart that Liz’s father had possessed.
“They’ll never replace Reverend William Breckenridge,” Elizabeth seethed. She closed one carpet bag and threw her only other pair of shoes into the second bag. Her whole family had given up so much so that the church could grow, to the point that they had few possessions. She and her mother had been allowed to continue living upstairs in the parsonage after Thomas Selby became the new minister, but her mother’s health failed rapidly and the woman eventually died from what the doctor claimed was cancer. It was a long, painful, cruel death, another blow to Elizabeth’s faith.
Now this. So unfair! Thinking she was some kind of helpless, needy waif, the pious Reverend Selby had “consoled” Elizabeth with a little too much hugging and touching, as far as she was concerned. It was not until the night one week ago when the man had come into her bedroom and sat on the edge of her bed, waking her when he leaned close and tried talking her into letting him “help” her by coming to bed and “filling her with his strength” that Liz had realized the man’s true intentions.
She’d screamed for him to get out, pushed at him, her reaction waking the man’s wife. The false accusations that came out of the reverend’s mouth then had shocked her. Of course, his wife believed him when he’d told her that Elizabeth had asked him to come to her room to pray with her and then had tried to tempt him into her bed.
She shuddered at the mere thought of the much older, supposedly righteous man being such a hypocrite. He had two grown sons older than she was, and he’d even preached sermons about the sin of adultery! After the incident, Mrs. Selby and other women in the congregation, women who’d been friends of her mother’s and who’d often offered their help in her grief, became cold towards her.
Oh, how it hurt to lose not only her beloved father and mother, but to be lied about and thus to lose others who had been her only source of comfort. Before the disgusting meeting with the deacons today Elizabeth had already decided to leave San Francisco and go to live with Peter. She’d received letters from him, knew he had indeed founded a church in Dawson. He most surely would not want her to make the trip, but he had no choice in the matter. Once she made up her mind to do something, she did it! Her mother used to tease her about such stubbornness.
She drew in her breath and closed her eyes. “God, forgive me,” she prayed. “I have never been so full of anger and…hatred. Yes, that’s what it is, Lord. It’s hatred. I’m so sorry that I feel this way.” She went to her knees. “Please guide me in my journey, Lord. Help me make it safely to Alaska. Help me find my brother. Show me what it is You want of me. Take away this anger so that I can better serve You with a heart that is not full of malice.”
She moved to sit down on the bed, reaching to take her Bible from the nightstand. She pressed it to her heart and let the tears come. Oh, how she missed the days when her family was all together, working hard to build their own church. Since she was eight years old, when her family had arrived in San Francisco after an arduous journey by wagon from Illinois, a life of serving the Lord was all she’d known. She’d been so involved with helping first her father and then her brother that she’d never even taken time for her own life, for allowing young men to court her or attending any social functions except those involving the church. She’d taught Sunday school, helped her mother minister to sick members and then had spent months nursing her own mother until she died.
“Why, God? Haven’t I served You well? Why have You taken so much from me?”
She opened her Bible to the New Testament, always believing that wherever she opened the Gospels she would find answers to her problems. She believed it was God’s way of talking to her, leading her.
“Beware, lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit,” she read, “after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ.”
There, as always, was her answer. She could not allow the hypocrites who’d kicked her out of this parsonage to spoil her faith.
She closed her eyes. “Lord, I believe You have a reason for the turns life hands us. Surely You mean for me to go to Dawson. I’m afraid, Lord, but I know You will be with me. And I believe there is a purpose for what has happened that You have not yet shown me. Whatever You have planned, Lord, I will accept whatever You entrust to me.”
She rose and packed the Bible into the second carpet bag, along with what was left of her clothing, such as it was. Her family had never owned many material things, and she dressed simply. She breathed deeply as she buckled the second bag, feeling more confident now. God had a purpose for her. She did not doubt it.
She walked to the dresser where she used to sit while her mother brushed her hair for her, always praising its thickness and luster—a lovely red glint to your dark tresses when the sun hits your hair just right, her mother would say. Liz sometimes felt guilty for admiring her own hair during those times, but she was proud of it, and it felt good to remember how she and her mother used to talk about so many things, and to remember how kind and loving Edna Breckenridge had been.
A lump rose in her throat at the memory. She tied on her bonnet, remembering her mother’s warning to always wear a hat with a brim to protect the beautiful, flawless skin God gave you. When the Lord blesses