Path of Freedom
A beautiful quilt. A desperate journey. Jennifer Hudson Taylor's
Path of Freedom
takes readers on an adventure rife with romance and enough suspense to keep you up nights, proving that freedom comes in many forms and is always sweetest when from the heart!
—Laura Frantz, author of
The Frontiersman's Daughter, Courting Morrow Little
, and
The Colonel's Lady.
I looked forward to reading a book about historical quilts. I liked the important part the quilt played in the story. The characters leapt off the pages and straight into my heart. I was sorry to see their story end.
—Lena Nelson Dooley, author of
Maggie's Journey
and
Mary's Blessing
, and winner of the Will Rogers Medallion award
A Wild Goose Chase Christmas
Jennifer AlLee
(November 2012)
For Love of Eli
Loree Lough
(February 2013)
Threads of Hope
Christa Allan
(March 2013)
A Healing Heart
Angela Breidenbach
(April 2013)
A Heartbeat Away
S. Dionne Moore
(May 2013)
Pieces of the Heart
Bonnie S. Calhoun
(June 2013)
Pattern for Romance
Carla Olson Gade
(August 2013)
Raw Edges
Sandra D. Bricker
(September 2013)
The Christmas Quilt
Vannetta Chapman
(October 2013)
Aloha Rose
Lisa Carter
(November 2013)
Tempest's Course
Lynette Sowell
(December 2013)
Scraps of Evidence
Barbara Cameron
(January 2014)
A Sky without Stars
Linda S. Clare
(February 2014)
Maybelle in Stitches
Joyce Magnin
(March 2014)
Other Books by Jennifer Hudson Taylor
Highland Blessings
Highland Sanctuary
ATH OF
F
REEDOM
Quilts of Love Series
Jennifer Hudson Taylor
Nashville, Tennessee
Path of Freedom
Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Hudson Taylor
ISBN-13: 978-1-4267-5263-6
Published by Abingdon Press, P.O. Box 801, Nashville, TN 37202
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.
The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Taylor, Jennifer Hudson.
Path of freedom / Jennifer Hudson Taylor.
pages cm. — (Quilts of love series)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-4267-5263-6 (book - pbk. / trade pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Quakers—Fiction. 2. Underground Railroad—Fiction. 3. Fugitive slaves—United States—Fiction. 4. African Americans—19th century—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3620.A9465P38 2013
813’.6—dc23
2012040008
Unless otherwise noted, scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations marked CEB are taken from the Common English Bible. Copyright © 2010 by the Common English Bible.
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 / 18 17 16 15 14 13
To my mother, Janice Sarah Robbins Hudson, Thank you for being my spiritual mentor and leading me on my journey with Christ. I'm so glad you shared your childhood memories with me, especially those of my great-grandmother, Flora Sarah Saferight, and our Quaker ancestors.
There is neither Jew nor Greek
,
there is neither slave nor free
,
there is neither male nor female
;
for you are all one in Christ Jesus.
(Galatians 3:28)
CKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank my husband for brainstorming with me about this story as we drove down the highway, and for taking me to places to visit and do research about our Quaker history and the Underground Railroad.
Celina, thank you for putting up with me as I lived with one foot in the present and the other in 1858. You are a wonderful daughter, and I'm so very proud to be your mom.
I appreciate the rich history of Centre Friends Meeting of Greensboro, NC, and Mendenhall Plantation of Jamestown, NC, which were both used as settings in my novel. The wagon on which I based the wagon in my novel was given by a Quaker family who attended Centre Friends Meeting. I appreciate Mendenhall Plantation for allowing me to visit and take photos of this wagon.
I'd like to thank my beta readers for such a quick turnaround and for your insight into the story and characters. I treasure your honesty.
I'm grateful to Ramona Richards, my editor, for having the vision of the new Quilts of Love line at Abingdon and for allowing me to be part of this great opportunity. And to Terry Burns, my agent, your unfailing prayers and encouragement are a great inspiration to me.
Dear Readers,
Since the plot in
Path of Freedom
involves the Underground Railroad and a secret quilt map, I'd like to address a couple of controversial topics argued by historians. The first is the idea that quilts were used to display secret codes in the Underground Railroad to guide slaves on their journey to freedom. Since most slaves couldn't read, some believe this was one way they communicated. On the other hand, some insist that this idea is a myth and that there is no historical evidence that quilts were used in this manner. Others say that very little evidence regarding the Underground Railroad survives since it was so secretive and most evidence would have been destroyed to protect those involved. Therefore, there is no evidence to support the Secret Quilt Code and no evidence to disprove it either.
The story of the Secret Quilt Code began with the 1999 publication of a book entitled
Hidden in Plain View.
Prior to this book, there was no mention of a Secret Quilt Code. In interviews with freed slaves in the 1930s and earlier, no mention was made of a Secret Quilt Code. Still, I loved the idea as an element of a plot for a novel. (See
http://ugrrquilt.hartcottagequilts.com/rr6a.htm
for more information.)
The second controversy concerns the involvement of Quakers in the Underground Railroad since they were against slavery as something that was antithetical to faith. The truth is that some Quakers were, but not all. Some Quakers didn't believe in breaking the law or lying, even to protect slaves. They believed in advocating to change the law, not breaking it. One way Quakers could legally free slaves was to buy them and become slave owners themselves. They taught their slaves a trade and set them free.
I grew up in an area where Quakers had a prominent history of buying slaves and setting them free. In fact, my mother's ancestors were Quaker and were most active at Centre Friends Meeting in Greensboro, NC. A false-bottom wagon used to transport slaves to Ohio and Indiana was in the possession of a family at Centre Friends, and they donated it to Mendenhall Plantation. I used the history of this wagon in my story. (See
http://www.mendenhallplantation.org
for more information.)
While Levi Coffin was one of the most famous Quakers who worked with the Underground Railroad and was regarded as the “Father of the Underground Railroad,” others were just as active but less known. Levi also lived in the Greensboro, NC, area before moving to Indiana. On July 19, 1816, Charles Osborne organized the North Carolina Manumission Society, an organization of Quakers and other abolitionists, whose main objective was to help free slaves and teach them how to support themselves. George Mendenhall was the largest slave owner in Guilford County. He owned as many as one hundred slaves, trained them as craftsmen, and set up a special school for slaves to teach them to read and write in order to prepare them for emancipation. His cousin, Richard Mendenhall, was the owner of the surviving Mendenhall Plantation, which is now a museum where the Underground Railroad wagon is housed. He allowed his slaves to operate and manage his store before he set them free.
For my non-Quaker readers, there are times when I use the term church in the book for clarity, but most of the time I use the term meeting to refer to the church or services. As with the Amish and Mennonites, Quakers varied from region to region. Some had organized services or meetings, while others sat in congregated silence and waited for the Holy Spirit to move individuals to speak and to share what was on their hearts. Some had leaders who were known as pastors, ministers, or preachers, but none of them were officially appointed. They took on the role because they felt led or called by God. Also, unlike people of other faiths, Quakers were open to women ministers since the beginning. In 1647 Elizabeth Hooten became the first female preacher.
In
Path of Freedom
, the quilt was made by Quakers who were familiar with the Underground Railroad route and wanted to provide a way for others to follow it. While most runaway slaves from Greensboro, NC, escaped to Indiana or Ohio, in my story they take a nontraditional route to Charlestown, PA. My story is fiction. The heroine is named for my great-grandmother, Flora Saferight, but the real Flora Saferight wasn't born until after the Civil War in 1890. She was Quaker and attended Centre Friends Meeting, where she was buried.
I hope you enjoy
Path of Freedom.
Blessings,
Jennifer
A
shiver of excitement rushed through Flora Saferight at the thought of their upcoming trip to Virginia. It had been at least two years since she'd seen her aunt and uncle, and even then they had traveled as a family by wagon. Now she and her younger sister would be making the trip by train.
“I think this is sensible for our journey.” Standing in Gilmer General Store, Irene held up a red shawl with a lining. Her blue eyes shone bright in the hope of Flora's approval. Blond curls framed Irene's heart-shaped face beneath her white bonnet. With a delicate nose and smooth skin heightened by a blush of enthusiasm, Irene was considered the beauty between them.
“Mother would prefer a sensible cloak,” Flora said. “Charlottesville can get awfully cold in the fall.”
Her sister bit her bottom lip and lowered her gaze in disappointment. A dramatic sigh slipped from her lips. Flora glanced around the general store and spied a rack of cloaks by the front counter.
“Why not try one of those?” She pointed beyond a table displaying hats and bonnets, hoping to lift Irene's spirits. “Since we don't have time to make a new cloak and thee has grown out of thy clothes from last winter, I'm sure Mother would approve.”
“True.” A bright smile lit Irene's face as she sailed over to investigate. “Now that I'm taller than thee, I won't be inheriting thy clothes.”
The shop door opened, ringing the tiny bell at the top.
“Good morning,” Mrs. Edwards, the store clerk, called from where she stood on a small step stool, stacking bolts of fabric on the wall shelves.
“Morning.” Bruce Millikan stepped inside wearing a white buttoned shirt, tucked into a pair of black trousers. His reddish-blond hair lay against his neck beneath his tall black hat. Flora's stomach shuddered at the thought of another confrontation with him. She took a deep breath, eager to escape before he noticed her.
Bruce glanced back to ensure that the door had closed properly. Flora gulped and turned, taking advantage of his momentary distraction to hurry behind a shelf of oil lanterns.
“Flora Saferight!” His deep voice flowed over her like bittersweet honey before she reached her destination. She waited for the sting of a familiar insult. Other girls may have enjoyed his teasing and attention growing up, but she hadn't. She closed her eyes, cringing as his booted footsteps charged across the wooden floor.
“Flora?”
She clenched her teeth and forced a smile as she squared her shoulders and prepared to greet him. Staring into his broad chest, Flora had to lean back to gaze into those amazing green eyes. Had he grown taller since she'd seen him eight months ago?
The freckles she remembered had faded beneath a ruddy complexion and a slight tan. A smile eased his lips, revealing straight teeth—too perfect, in her opinion. If only he would smile a little wider, then she'd have the satisfaction of seeing the gaping hole on the left side. Too bad a fall from a tree had been responsible, for she would have dearly loved to claim the honor—especially after he'd teased her about her two front teeth.
What was wrong with her? Guilt sliced through Flora. Her thoughts were much too bitter for a proper Quaker. They had been children. Still, all his barbed words had cut her to the core and continued to sting like a nasty bee buzzing around inside her soul. “Good morning, Bruce Millikan. I wasn't aware thee was back in town.”
“I arrived home a fortnight ago.” He blinked and his smile waned. “For a moment, I thought thee might be trying to avoid me.”
Flora lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Do I look like I'm avoiding thee?” She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him with what she hoped was her best disapproving look. “Goodness, Bruce Millikan, thee acts as if I knew thee would walk right through that door. Since when has thee known me to back down from anything?”
His lips curled as two thin lines framed each side of his smile. He shook his head in slow motion. “No, Beaver Face, no one could ever accuse thee of ignoring a challenge.” He gave a reminiscing chuckle. “Thee is the most headstrong girl I've ever known—and foolhardy at times.” He folded his arms and stared down at her as if she were still a wayward child.
“Foolhardy? Beaver Face? Really, Bruce, one would hope thee would eventually grow up and leave the childhood name-calling behind.” Flora bristled, his words scalding her heart like a new flesh wound. “We may only be a year apart in age, but thee hasn't changed one bit.”
“Come on, Flora, I didn't mean it like that. It's more of an endearment now.” He stepped closer, leaning forward. “The rest of thy teeth have grown in and are now perfect.” He glanced behind him as if to see if anyone else was listening. “I'm sorry. I wish I'd never called thee that. I've sure spent every day since paying for it.”
She stepped back, confused by his nearness and stunned by his apology. Flora swallowed, clearing her mind. The childhood taunts she could forgive, but the idea that he would insinuate she was foolish when she'd worked so hard to become a proper young lady of eighteen chafed her.
“Apparently, thee isn't sorry. For thee just called me foolhardy. I'll have thee know, there's a good doctor in Virginia who thinks very highly of me. As a midwife, I will, he believes, complement his practice rather well.” Clint Roberts had only mentioned it once in a letter, but she chose to interpret his words to mean that. No need in letting Bruce know she exaggerated.
“What doctor?” The light left his green eyes and his lips dropped in a frown. “Is thee courting a doctor?” He shifted, placing his fists at his side.
Irene walked over with a dark purple cloak draped over her arm. The bell rang and a new customer walked in, greeting Mrs. Edwards.
“It's true,” Irene said. “Flora met him two summers ago when we were visiting our aunt and uncle. They've been corresponding ever since.”
Thrilled that her sister would come to her aid, Flora beamed at Bruce. “See? Perhaps thee is the only one who harbors such an opinion of me.” She stepped around him and over to her sister's side. “I'm content to live with the knowledge that I'll always be an ugly Beaver Face girl to thee, and thee will always be a mean-spirited bully to me—a childhood nightmare I'm more than happy to forget.”
She linked arms with her sister and turned, leading Irene to the front counter. “For that, dear sister, thee may have a purple cloak. Thee deserves something a little less…plain today,” Flora whispered in her ear.
“Flora, thee has an imagination to feed a pack of werewolves,” Bruce called from behind. “Thee is twisting my words. It isn't like that.”
“Indeed,” she mumbled loud enough for only Irene to hear. “Over the years it has been much worse.”
It took three trips, but Bruce finally hauled all the supplies he'd purchased to the wagon parked out front. He dropped the last twenty-pound bag of flour in the bed and rubbed the dust from his hands.
An image of Flora Saferight came to mind. She wasn't as plain as she thought. In fact, she had grown into a beautiful woman, but he couldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing he thought so. Flora possessed blue-gray eyes that could captivate a man until he lost his senses. Her coffee-colored hair matched her spirited personality—vibrant and alive.
Why had he called her foolhardy? He touched the palm of his hand to his forehead in disbelief. Now she had another grievance to hold against him in addition to his long list of past sins. While some of her decisions were impulsive, and she needed more time to mature, he didn't think of her as a child, either. Flora was an enigma, with the cunning ability to challenge and frustrate him. Yet, in spite of being an annoyance, she intrigued him.
Wagons and carriages rolled by, crunching pebbles and dirt in the road. Two women stopped to converse on the corner in front of the barber shop. He strained to see if they were Flora and Irene, but when they turned, he realized it was a mother and daughter.
Disappointment fueled a fire his chest. He wanted to find out more about the doctor in Virginia. Was she serious about this man? Bruce strolled around the wagon and prepared to pull himself up into the seat.
“Good day, Bruce Millikan,” a familiar voice called from behind.
Bruce turned to see Pastor John Allred striding toward him from across the street. He had to dodge a rider before he reached Bruce. They shook hands in a firm grip, greeting each other with smiles.
“Glad to see thee back. When did thee arrive in town?” John asked.
“Almost a fortnight ago. I'm sorry I missed meeting last week, but I plan to be there this Sunday. It was a long trip to Indiana. I've been trying to catch up on some chores around the farm.”
“No need to explain.” John shook his head and waved his hand to dismiss the issue. “Thee is doing important work for the Lord. That's the main thing. Was the mission successful?”
“Yes, but I'm looking forward to seeing everyone again and catching up on all the news. I just ran into Flora and Irene Saferight.”
“I heard they're about to leave on the train to Virginia.” John rubbed the back of his neck. “Speaking of which, there's something I'd like to discuss with thee. Would thee be willing to come over for supper tonight?”
Bruce rubbed his chin. What would Flora's trip to Virginia have to do with him? Curious, he nodded. “I'll tell Mother not to expect me for supper when I return. Flora mentioned a doctor she met up there two summers ago. Does thee know when they'll be leaving?” Bruce hoped his voice sounded casual. “I thought she was planning on being a midwife around here.”
“I don't reckon her plans have changed.” John shook his head, his brown eyes lit up, and a smooth grin spread across his face. “In fact, she helped Hazel Miller birth her latest child. I think Flora will prove to be one of our community's best assets.”
Not if she moves away to Virginia.
The sudden thought made Bruce's stomach churn. She was too young. What was she thinking? He'd only been gone eight months. How could things change so fast?
“Well, Pastor John, I'd better get these things home and put away so I can make it over to your place in time for supper.”
“Good idea, Bruce.” John slapped him on the shoulder. “I'll see thee in a little while.”
Bruce gave him a nod and climbed into the wagon. He took the reins, unset the brake, and guided the horse down the street.
Flora didn't slow until the post office was in sight. Her sister breathed heavily from their brisk pace, hauling her new cloak over her arm.
“I still don't see why thee wouldn't let me stop long enough to put my cloak in the wagon. Besides, I thought we had more shopping to do.” Irene glared at Flora while they waited for a buggy to pass before crossing the street.
“I promise. We'll go back and finish our shopping after I'm sure Bruce Millikan is gone.” Flora charged into the street and stomped across the dirt road.
“Thee cannot avoid him forever. Forgive him for the past and let it go. He's right. It was a long time ago.”
“It's true that Beaver Face was a long time ago, but his calling me foolhardy this morning isn't.” Flora blew out a puff of air. If it were possible for a human being to explode, she'd be in a million pieces right now.
She swung open the post office door and an elderly woman stumbled out.
“Oh! Pardon me.” Flora reached for the woman's elbow to steady her.
“Goodness!” The gray-haired woman righted herself and smoothed her skirts. She lifted her chin and glanced up at Flora and then Irene with brown eyes of stone. “You young people need not be in such haste. I daresay, this post office won't grow legs and walk, you know.”
“We're sorry.” Flora pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.
Inside, Flora blinked, adjusting her eyes to the darkness. She strode toward the open window, where Joseph Miller, the clerk, greeted her with a genuine smile.
“Howdy, Miss Saferight and Miss Saferight.” He nodded to Irene standing by Flora. “Hazel and the baby are doing very well. You did a fine job delivering my baby girl.” He rubbed the top of his bald head, which sported a thin layer of brown hair stretched from ear to ear.
“I'm glad to hear it. I hope to stop by for a visit before we leave on our trip to Virginia,” Flora said.
“Hazel would like that. I think the confinement is starting to bother her.”
“It won't be long before she'll be able to go out into society again.” Flora pulled out a folded letter addressed to her aunt. “I need to send this to Charlottesville, Virginia.”
“That will be one penny.”
Flora dug into her skirt pocket and handed him the required change. Once they finished their business at the post office, they stepped outside the small wooden building into the bright sun. She shielded her eyes. She loved North Carolina in the fall. Soon more color would fill their world and cooler weather would bring in the harvest.
“I promised Mother we'd stop by the train station and find out the prices of the tickets,” Flora said as they made their way toward South Elm Street.
“This is exciting!” In a sudden burst of energy, Irene caught Flora's pace as a smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “Just think, we'll be going through the capital city of Raleigh and then into Virginia in comfortable passenger seats. No slow, bumpy wagon with a hard wooden seat for days on end.”