Path of Freedom (10 page)

“No.” She shook her head. “I'll take care of it myself. Thee shouldn't have sewn me up the other day. It's inappropriate.” She lifted her chin. “I'm in better condition today, and I'll take care of it myself.”

“Is it infected?” He raised an eyebrow as he waited for a response.

She looked away, and that was answer enough.

“Flora, out here we can't afford to take chances on propriety. Thee can think of me as a brute or hate me all thee wants, but I'm tending to thy leg.” He pointed again. “Now sit down.”

“Humph!” She sat with a puckering frown.

Bruce blinked to clear his mind as she slid her brown skirt up over her creamy calf. Red blood trickled from the gash on the side of her knee. Indeed, the first four stitches were ripped open, and pink swelling surrounded the wound, the first indication of an infection trying to set in.

“Propriety is not worth losing a leg over—or worse, dying.” He spat the words out before he could stop himself. Pulling out the flask of water she'd brought, he cleansed the wound.

“Clint Roberts showed me how to sew stitches. I could have handled it.” She bit her bottom lip, wincing in pain. “He's an excellent doctor. I've always admired doctors for the work they do.”

Her voice took on a dreamy tone, causing Bruce to glance at her. Flora's lips curled into a smile as she concentrated on an object in the distance. Was it doctors whom she admired or this Clint fellow?

“Who's Clint?” Bruce asked in a casual voice as he threaded the needle. He assumed he was the doctor she had mentioned once before.

“We'll probably meet him in Charlottesville when we arrive at my aunt and uncle's.”

“He's a cousin, then?”

“Oh, no.” She laughed. “He's my aunt's nephew on her side of the family. He's no blood relation to us.”

“How does thee know we'll see him since we're only passing through?” Bruce risked a quick glance in her direction. He disliked the glow now on her face.

“Because I wrote him and told him. We've been writing for two years since my last visit.”

“I see.” He took a deep breath, trying to concentrate. “Hold still. This might sting.” Just like his heart, now that he knew what he knew.

Flora leaned on Bruce as they arrived back at camp. Irene rushed over from where she'd been pacing. “Where has thee been?” Irene's blue gaze shifted up to Bruce, standing behind her. “Marta woke up in a fitful state a while ago. It seems she had a bad dream about the baby.” Irene sighed. “No one has been able to console her. Not even Jim. She's been asking for thee.”

“I'll see what I can do.” Flora stepped around her sister and headed toward the wagon. She grabbed her skirt, preparing to lift herself into the back of the wagon.

“Flora, thee should be careful. If thy stitches break again, I don't know if we'll be able to hold off that infection any longer.” Bruce had been quite somber since he'd stitched her up and they had walked back to camp. She wondered what had really been bothering him. Had she angered him with her defiant behavior?

“I'll try, but I must climb into the back of the wagon to assist Marta. It's nearly impossible to move about without bending my knee.”

“Then allow me to at least help thee.” He settled his fists on each side. “Or does thee intend to keep being stubborn?”

She couldn't mistake the irritation in his voice, and she wasn't sure if she blamed him. Out here in the middle of nowhere, it was hard to figure out where the boundaries between propriety were drawn and where they should be ignored for necessity's sake.

“Fine.” She gestured to the wagon. “Thee may lift me up. I'll do my best to cooperate with thee until my wound heals and the stitches can be removed.”

Without another word, Bruce strode over, swept her up into his arms, and deposited her inside the wagon. He left her staring after him.

“Flora, yous back!” Marta sat up and reached out for her. Tears stained her cheeks. “It was awful.” A flood of new tears poured from her eyes.

“She won't tell me the whole thing,” Jim said. “Just keeps crying, and I don't know what to do.” Jim sat beside her, lifting his large shoulders and shaking his head.

“Jim, would thee mind giving us some privacy?” She looked around their cramped quarters between all the trunks. “I need to stretch out my hurt leg and there isn't much room. I'll do my best to calm her.”

“Yes'm.” He nodded, moving up onto his knees. He took Marta's face between his two hands and looked into her eyes. “It's going to be all right. No matter what happens. I loves you. Don't forget that.” He gave Marta such a gentle kiss that Flora's heart melted in longing. Would she ever have someone look at her with that much love?

Lord, please let it be so.

“I love you, too.” Marta clung to him as tears squeezed past her lids. “More than you know.”

Jim crawled out, leaving them alone.

“What are these tears for?” Flora straightened her knee and slid closer to Marta. “Tell me.”

“I had a bad dream—a nightmare.” Marta's voice was strained. “I can't tell Jim ’cause I don't want him to think it'll happen, but I'm scared jus’ the same.”

“Has thee ever had a dream that came true before?”

“Naw.” Marta shook her head.

“Then what makes thee think it'll happen now?”

“I don't know. It just scared me is all.” Marta placed protective hands over her swollen stomach. “I've been having so many pains today.”

“What about when thee is lying down and resting?” Flora asked, wiping away the tears on Marta's cheeks with her shawl.

“I feel better.” Marta sniffled. “Thanks, Miz Flora. I dreamed my baby was stillborn and all stiff-like.” Her voice broke again.

“No, Friend Marta.” Flora shook Marta's shoulder with a gentle hand. “Let's have none of that. Thy baby will be fine. He's in God's hands just as he ought to be.” Flora looked around and thought of something that would cheer her friend. “I was going to save this for his birth, but I might as well give it to thee now. It might cheer and inspire thee with some hope.”

“Oh, no, yous don't have to do nothing for me.” Marta straightened and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “I be all right.”

Flora leaned on her good knee and opened one of the trunks. The hinges groaned. The smell of cedar drifted through the air. She reached inside and pulled out a cream-colored baby gown.

“I made it for thy newborn. Whenever thee is tempted to think about that dream or to worry, hold onto this and know that thy baby will soon be wearing it.”

“Oh, it's beautiful!” Marta's fingers covered her mouth as more tears filled her eyes—this time happy tears.

“I made it just for him or her, whichever the good Lord plans for thee to have.” Flora held the gown up with a smile of pride. “Here, take it.” She handed it to Marta.

“Thanks.” She accepted the tiny outfit and hugged Flora. “I'll always be grateful to yous Quakers. There ain't anyone on earth as kind, and I mean dat.”

“We are plain and simple people merely trying to live as we believe.” Flora fluffed up a pillow and set it under Marta's head. “Now I want thee to get some rest. Thee will need thy strength when it comes time to have this baby.”

“Yes'm.” Marta hugged her baby's garment to her chest and laid back, settling in comfort. “I thank the Lord my child a-be born in freedom.” She sighed with contentment and closed her eyes.

They rested that afternoon until evening. Irene and Bruce prepared a simple supper of bread cakes and beef jerky. Flora took out the Midnight Star quilt and studied it by the firelight. It smelled of home. Longing embraced her as she unfolded half of it and spread it out over her legs. As she traced her mother's labored stitching, she realized they would soon reach Lynchburg if her calculations were correct.

Irene sat between Flora and Bruce, allowing Flora to stretch out her knee as they traveled through the night. By dawn, they had rolled into their next station right outside of Lynchburg. An older Quaker couple greeted them with two lanterns and a warm breakfast. More than anything, Flora longed for a warm bath.

Once they were inside the couple's house, Flora tugged on Bruce's coat sleeve. She leaned up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Would it be possible for a short trip into town to mail a letter to my parents? I'm sure they're wondering how we're all doing.” Bruce didn't answer right away as he looked at her and scratched his beard. “There would be nothing suspicious if Irene and I were to go to town with thee—not if Marta and Jim stay here.”

“Would thee happen to be mailing a letter to Clint Roberts as well?” Bruce's voice was thick with unusual sarcasm. “Perhaps that is why thee is so eager to go into town after all this time, especially now that we're drawing close to Charlottesville.”

A
s soon as Bruce strode away from Flora, he slammed his fist into his other hand, mentally chastising himself for his petty jealousy. What had gotten into him? Allowing such a dangerous emotion to take root in his heart could wreak havoc with his judgment and his ability to carry this mission through.

Besides, he'd jumped to conclusions. Just because Flora had been writing the fellow for two years didn't mean they were romantically involved. Perhaps they only had the medical field as a common interest. He massaged his aching temples. The one thing that wouldn't ease his concern was the fact that he'd heard rare admiration in Flora's tone. She'd never spoken of
him
that way.

As he walked down the hall, following the Browns to the kitchen, his anger dissipated with the smell of bacon, sausage, biscuits, and eggs. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of a warm meal.

“I made milk gravy as well,” Ida Brown said, carrying a bowl to the table. “Please, have a seat and enjoy thyselves.”

Throughout breakfast, Flora kept her attention tuned to Marta as she answered Ida Brown's questions about their journey. Their hostess was a plump, elderly lady with gray curls beneath her bonnet. She wore a pair of spectacles on the bridge of her nose, and she missed few details. In spite of her advanced years, she lacked no energy as she bounced around the kitchen, refilling plates and cups as soon as they were half empty.

Harvey Brown was a round fellow with a short white beard and a mustache. He also wore a pair of spectacles and often tilted his head to peer through them at Bruce.

“So…which map is thee using for this mission?” Harvey asked.

“It's the Midnight Star quilt that Flora's mother made. I've studied it a few times, especially after being chased by a suspicious man and his dog. It helps that the map includes landmarks and rivers. We were able to find our way back to the main road and keep to our route.”

“We received word that thee was on the way a few days ago, along with the bad news that Jim and Marta's master hired a bounty hunter to track them,” Friend Brown said. “I wouldn't worry too much about it. I've been told it's common practice. I just wanted thee to be aware.”

“I appreciate it.” Bruce gave him a nod of appreciation. His chest tightened with unwanted tension. While it wasn't uncommon for a slave owner to hire a bounty hunter, it was less so once escaped slaves had likely traveled beyond state borders.

“I knew he wouldn't let us alone.” Jim's voice rattled with fear. “What's we gonna do?”

“Nothing,” Bruce said, keeping a calm tone and his gaze steady for Marta and Jim's benefit. “We've taken every necessary precaution. That's why thee has managed to elude him through the Carolinas and into Virginia. We don't have much farther to go.”

“Bruce is right.” Flora covered Marta's trembling hand with her own. “Try not to worry. Let's eat the nice meal Friend Brown went to the trouble of cooking for us.”

“We're quite thankful,” Irene said, grabbing another biscuit. “I was nearly famished!”

“Thee may eat as much as thee wants.” Ida Brown set another plate of bacon before them. “In the meantime, we'll prepare thy baths. Who would like to go first?” Her gaze traveled to all of them.

Irene's mouth was full or Bruce was certain she would have been the first to speak up. Instead, Flora cleared her throat. “I'd like Marta to go first. She's been experiencing lots of worrisome pains of late, and I'd like her to have a chance to relax and rest as much as possible.”

“Of course.” Ida Brown rose to her feet. “Thy water is already warming, and I'll have it ready in a moment.”

“We have two tubs.” Harvey Brown smiled with pride and slid his thumbs beneath his black suspenders. “While the women bathe upstairs, the men may bathe downstairs in our basement by the large hearth.”

“We're much obliged,” Bruce said. Using Flora's admirable example, he turned to Jim. “Thee should go first.”

“I couldn't.” Jim shook his head, dropping his gaze.

“Yes, thee can. I insist. That way thee will be ready to retire when Marta is ready.”

“Come on.” Harvey Brown stood from the table. “I'll show thee where to go.”

Flora rose with Marta, helping her lift her bulky form from her chair. Marta held her belly with one hand and clung to Flora with the other. Now only Bruce and Irene were left at the kitchen table.

She was in the process of finishing her biscuit when he glanced over at her. Perhaps she would be able to tell him a little more about Clint Roberts.

“When I was stitching up Flora yesterday, she mentioned a man by the name of Clint Roberts had taught her how to stitch up a wound.” Bruce pulled another biscuit apart and kept busy spreading strawberry jam on one half. He hoped she would volunteer a little information without him having to be too obvious.

She finished drinking her water and set her cup down. “Yes, he received his doctorate this year, but was still in school when Flora met him two years ago. He was out on holiday while we were visiting our aunt and uncle.” She giggled. “He wrote and asked if he could court her once he finished school and set up his practice.”

Bruce choked and reached for his water. Flora had mentioned that a doctor in Virginia wanted her assistance with his medical practice, but she hadn't said anything about a courtship. And why would she? Until this mission, the two of them hadn't been on very friendly terms, in spite of how close their families were in their Quaker community.

“Is thee all right?” Irene frowned at him in concern.

“Yes,” he managed to squeeze out as he coughed again. He hit his chest, more irritated with himself than anything else. “I'm sorry, please continue.”

“Well, I think it's strange that he would want to carry on a long-distance courtship.” She shrugged. “Unless he plans for one of them to move.”

“Interesting.” Bruce didn't know what to think.

“His last letter said he would like to visit us, but we had already planned a trip to Virginia. Flora wrote him back and told him of our plans.”

“He knows about the mission?” Bruce leaned forward. “What sort of man is he? Can he be trusted? Is he Quaker?”

“Oh, yes.” She waved a hand to dismiss his concern. “He's practically family…by marriage, that is—our aunt's nephew on her side of the family.”

“What does Flora think about all this? I mean, she hasn't seen him in almost two years. People can change in that amount of time.”

“That's what I said.” Irene propped her chin on her hand. “Besides, I don't want him taking my sister away to live way up here. I'd hardly ever get to see her.”

That made two of them. The thought turned his stomach. His hands felt cold all of a sudden. He dropped them into his lap and gave Irene a direct look. “Does that mean she's considering it?”

“Flora says a match with a doctor might suit her, since she is destined to be a midwife.” Irene rolled her eyes heavenward. “Something about how he understands her and they have mutual respect for each other. It's so unromantic. I hope to marry for love.”

“Flora has always been the practical sort.” He tried to ignore the ache in the back of his throat and the gaping hole that had been drilled through his chest. “Still, I'd hate to see her settle for less than she deserves. I wouldn't want her to be unhappy.”

Something struck his heart like a lit match, and he realized how true those words were. He couldn't stand the thought of her being unhappy.

“She says everyone in Greensboro will always think of her as Beaver Face.” Irene pointed at him. “Thee contributed to that image she has of herself. To her way of thinking, Virginia would give her a fresh start where no one knows of her past.”

“I don't know how many times I can apologize for the same thing. If I could, I'd go back and erase every bit of it, but I can't. What's done is done.” And now he could lose Flora Saferight due to his own folly. He rubbed his eyes, fatigue claiming the remainder of his strength. “If thee really believes this man isn't right for her, thee could try to persuade her otherwise,” Bruce said. “Flora will listen to thee.”

“I love my sister and wouldn't dream of standing in the way of her happiness.” Irene dropped her hand and straightened in her seat. “I want to meet him again and see what I think of him now.”

“I see.” Bruce stood, feeling more defeated than ever. “I'm going downstairs to await my bath.”

Flora smiled, thinking how refreshing some rest in a decent bed had been for all of them. Even Bruce seemed to be in better spirits as he conversed with Friend Harvey by the wagon.

Now that dusk claimed the sky, they prepared to leave. The only consolation Flora had about being back on the road and camping out in the wooded countryside was the knowledge that they would soon arrive at her aunt and uncle's home.

“I keep telling myself that getting back in that dark box is our way to freedom.” Marta patted her round belly and took a deep breath.

“Here, take this quilt with thee. The weather is colder tonight, and I don't want thee to be freezing,” Flora said.

“Thank you, Miz Flora.” Marta accepted the thick quilt, hugging it to her chest. “Truth be told, I'm a little cold just now.”

“My mother made this quilt. She included an extra layer of padding that will keep thee and Jim warm.”

Flora ran her hand over the quilt, remembering how her mother had packed their trunks full of her handmade quilts. It was the one thing she wouldn't let Flora and Irene compromise on when Bruce had insisted they lighten their load. Flora appreciated her mother's foresight and wisdom. A sudden longing for home filled her soul, and a deep ache throbbed inside her.

Their good-byes to the Browns were brief but heartfelt. Soon they were back on the road traveling into the increasing dark. Now, as she glanced up, she couldn't find any stars twinkling in the dark sky.

“Where are all the stars tonight?” Flora asked. “It's rare we don't see any—not even the moon is showing.”

“That's what Harvey and I were discussing earlier,” Bruce said. “Thick clouds have rolled in. He gave us some extra oil lanterns in case we need them.”

“It's cold, too.” Irene shivered, leaning close to Flora. The two of them huddled under a quilt. “I hope it doesn't snow on us.”

Bruce chuckled. “I don't think we have any worry of that. A storm might be in store for us, though. The winds have picked up.”

It was true. The tree branches swayed and brushed against each other as the wind pressed against Flora's face. Perhaps they should have stayed another night on the Brown farm. She glanced over at Bruce, but all she could see was the outline of his form and the hat upon his head. Thunder growled in the distance. They had traveled in rain before, and it had been miserable, but never in a bad storm. Flora swallowed her rising fear.

“Did thee hear that?” Irene sat up. “A storm's coming.”

“Indeed. We'd better brace ourselves,” Bruce said. “Flora and Irene, go ahead and get inside the covered wagon. It's liable to begin raining any minute. And mind those stitches.”

“Go on, Irene. I'll be a moment longer,” Flora said.

Irene didn't argue as she crawled over the back of the bench and fell inside the wagon with a thud. A double flash of lightning lit the sky. She scooted closer to the middle of the bench, near Bruce.

“I can pull over if thee needs me to so thy stitches won't bust.” Bruce turned toward her. She swayed as they rode over a bump. He reached out a steady hand and pulled her against him. “The last thing we need is for thee to fall out and get hurt again.”

“Bruce Millikan, thee cannot ride through this storm. Pull over and wait it out. Once the rain starts, we'll be sloshing through mud and could get stuck.”

Thunder rumbled closer as more wind gushed. Bruce almost lost his hat. He slammed his hand over the top, catching it in time. Pulling it off, he handed it to her. “Here, throw this inside.”

“What about pulling under the cover of a large tree?” Flora asked as she turned and tossed his hat inside.

“That's the worst thing I could do. I've seen too many storms bring down large limbs and whole trees.” Bruce shook his head. “No, we'd be better trying to ride it out as far as we can and if we have to park, to do so on a hill so we don't get caught the bottom of a slope where rain would drain into a puddle and cause a mud hole around us.”

“I trust thy judgment.” What he said made sense.

“That's a first.” Surprise carried in his tone and it made her smile.

“In this storm,” she clarified. “See? I can be reasonable sometimes.”

The wagon tilted to the right as torrents of rain slashed against them from the side wind. Flora reached for Bruce's arm, but feared jarring him and grabbed for the seat instead.

“Thee can hold onto me. I prefer it so I'll know where thee is.” He said something else, but booming thunder drowned out his voice.

The horse struggled to pull them as they climbed a hill. Rain beat upon her bonnet and face until she ducked behind Bruce's shoulder. Cold wetness soaked her bonnet and matted her hair to her crown. The quilt provided little warmth as it grew saturated with rain.

They finally crested the hill, and Bruce steered them to a flat spot off the side of the road to a patch of grass. He set the brake. Flora gripped the bench on both sides of her lap to keep from losing her balance. More lightning and thunder exploded above them.