Path of Freedom (11 page)

“Flora!” Irene poked out her head. “I can hear Marta screaming something fierce. I think she's gone into labor. Jim's banging on the wagon floor begging for us to let them out.”

Ice settled in the pit of Flora's stomach. This was exactly what she had been dreading. If they hadn't already been traveling for several hours, she would demand that Bruce take them back to the Browns' house. Now she would have to make do with the resources she had available.

“Dear Lord.” Flora touched her forehead. “I can't even build a fire to boil water in this mess. Please help me. Show me what to do to keep Marta from infection.”

“What?” Irene yelled over the pouring rain.

“Get my medical supplies ready from my trunk!” Flora scooted to the edge of the wagon and prepared to jump, but strong arms lifted her. She gasped in surprise as she realized Bruce held her. She clung to his arms as he swung her down to her feet.

“Flora, thee can do this. If thee needs me, I'll be right here keeping Jim calm as best as I can.” Bruce gave her arm a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

She could hardly see as she hurried to the back of the wagon, reached under, and unlatched the hidden lock. The door opened, and Jim slid out as Marta screamed in pain.

“Put her inside the covered wagon!” Another clap of thunder bit off her words.

Jim must have understood her. He bent, reached inside, and pulled Marta's writhing body out and into his arms. She buried her face in Jim's chest, muffling her cries. Jim crawled into the wagon and laid her on the pallet Irene had prepared.

“Takes good care o’ her, Miz Flora.” He backed out into the rain and left them.

“God, please help me,” Flora whispered.

Marta cried out in agony, her voice lingering in a wail. Jim cringed. The poor man leaned his forehead against the trunk of a tree, his face contorted in the pouring rain as if someone had him against a whipping post. Bruce shuddered and prayed. He didn't know all that was involved in bringing a new life into the world, but he'd known enough women through the years who didn't make it when things went wrong.

The agony went on for hours throughout the night. Coaxing voices drifted from the wagon when the cries quieted. Bruce assumed Marta had run out of energy to cry out. He exchanged worried glances with Jim as they passed each other in their pacing. The storm had raged on for a couple of hours. Bruce blew on his hands, unable to feel them now.

“Why ain't we hearing nothing?” Jim shoved his large hands through his thick hair and bent over, slamming his palms against his knees. Bruce placed a sturdy hand on his shoulder as his friend tried to catch his breath.

“I'm sure all is well or there would be weeping.” Bruce gave the man's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Jim nodded, accepting his words as truth. Bruce swallowed, hoping he was right.

“I know it can take hours. On the plantation back home, other women could take all day and night.” Jim stood and stretched his arms above his head. “I keep reminding myself o’ that.”

“My sister was in labor with her first one for over twenty-four hours. And they both did fine,” Bruce said.

The thunder and lightning had waned, but a light drizzle still showered them. Bruce went over to the two buckets he'd set out to capture fresh rainwater. The buckets were now full. At least if they needed more water, he'd have it ready.

A piercing scream ripped the air, and Bruce's gut clenched in fear. He glanced at Jim, a similar expression of anguish creasing his young face as their gazes crossed.

“Irene, hold her tighter. I can't do this if she's wriggling away from me.” Flora's strong voice rose.

“I can't. I'm going to be sick!” Irene said, as the sound of shuffling ensued. A moment later, Irene emerged. She leaped to the ground holding her mouth with one hand and gripping her skirt with the other. Running past Bruce and Jim to a line of bushes, she fell to her knees. Her shoulders heaved as the horrible sounds of retching broke through the soft pattering rain.

“Irene, come back here!” Flora's angry tone demanded. “Please.”

Bruce was torn. Should he go comfort Irene or see if he could assist Flora?

“Marta? Oh, no.” Jim ran to the wagon.

Bruce lunged after him, catching him before he could haul himself up into the covered wagon. He grabbed the man's shoulder, but he jerked free. Bruce gripped his arm. “Jim, wait. Marta may be fine.”

“Bruce, I need thee!” Flora's frightened voice caused both of them to pause. He'd never heard fear in her tone before.

“Flora, I'm right here.” He shoved past Jim, who now stood still, rooted to the earth like a one-hundred-year-old tree. He leaned inside to see Flora brushing Marta's hair back from her forehead in a comforting manner.

“I've got to turn the baby, and I've never done this before.” She bit her bottom lip and blinked weary eyes where circles had formed in the last few hours. “I need thee to hold Marta as still as possible.”

“Jim, Marta is fine, but I need thee to stay out here.” He leaned back to see the man staring at him with wild eyes. “See if Irene is all right.” Bruce climbed inside and took Flora's place in comforting Marta. “Thee can do this,” he said to Flora. “The Lord is with thee.”

Flora nodded and moved past him in an awkward manner, trying to keep her stitched knee from bending too much. She moved between Marta's legs and took a deep breath as she stretched out her leg to the side. “Marta, Bruce will hold thee while I turn thy baby. There will be lots of pain.”

Bruce leaned over Marta, who stared up at him with glazed eyes. He wasn't sure how much she could hear or understand at this point. It looked like she'd already lost a good deal of blood. With a silent prayer, Bruce held her shoulders against the floor. “Go, Flora. I've got her.”

She bent and worked hard, groaning and clenching her teeth as she struggled with her task. Tears streamed down her face as she set her expression like flint and wrinkled her forehead in determined fortitude.

Marta bit down on the cloth in her mouth, but it didn't stop the writhing cry that escaped from deep within her throat. Her body rose and twisted, contorting against Bruce's palms as he used the force of his weight to keep her down. Irene would have never had the strength to do this. Marta mustered some internal power and tried to lurch upward, but Bruce braced his knees and forced her back down, grunting with the effort it took.

“I've got it.” Flora glanced up at him, their eyes meeting with mutual respect and gratefulness. “It's done. Let's give her a moment to recover, and she can push with the next series of contractions.”

Marta calmed, breathing heavily and going as limp as a blade of grass. For a moment, she lay so still, Bruce worried. “Lord, give her more strength to push this baby out.”

“Yes, Lord, please,” Flora said, her voice joining his as she rose back up on her good knee and hunched over, prepared for the next phase. “Here it comes, Marta. Picture thy baby. Get a clear image of him in thy mind and push with all thy might. He needs thee, right now. Go, Marta. Push, now!”

Marta leaned up on her elbows, threw her head back, and closed her eyes as she scrunched up her face. “Argh!” She stopped to take another breath.

“Keep going, Marta. Don't give up now.” Flora reached down with both hands and waited. “I can see his head.”

Marta braced again. Bruce helped steady her back. She pushed, her voice straining under the pressure of what her body continued to endure.

“I've got him.” Flora caught the stiff child in her arms. She grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped the umbilical cord. Blood spewed as Flora turned to work on the baby. “Well done, Marta.”

No anticipated crying followed. Flora blew in the child's face, and when that didn't work she slapped his bottom.

“Why…ain't he crying?” Marta's tired voice rasped out after she took another deep breath.

“Bruce, let Marta rest and then press down on her stomach. The afterbirth still has to come out.”

“What ’bout my baby?” Marta reached out her arms. “Let me have him.”

Bruce repositioned himself beside Marta and set his hands on her stomach. “Marta, brace thyself for the pain.” He did the best he could with no proper training, while Flora continued to work on the baby. Marta screamed, half-rising and curling up her body. He pulled out the messy afterbirth as he had done when he and his father had assisted with the birth of a new colt.

Still the baby didn't cry. Flora continued to work, and he maneuvered around to peer over her trembling shoulder. The stiff child lay in the crook of her arm, all ashen and gray. “Breathe!” she whispered. “Oh God, make him breathe.”

Bruce's heart sank like a cannonball had hit him, knowing he would have to first convince Flora and then the child's labor-beaten mother of the truth. He swallowed the lump of cotton that drained the back of his throat dry. Laying a gentle hand on Flora's shoulder, he reached out with his other hand.

“Flora, give him to me.”

“I can't…”

“Flora, he's gone.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I won't give up. He'll breathe. I know he will.” She blew in the child's face and popped him on the bottom again as if to shock him into breathing.

“Give me my baby!” Marta cried, tears already lacing her voice.

“Marta…I'm…so sorry.” Flora choked as a sob burst from deep in her chest. This time when Bruce reached for the child, she relinquished him without a fight and doubled over, silencing her grief as Bruce turned toward Marta.

W
ith mind-numbing movements, Flora managed to clean Marta while Bruce broke the news to Jim. Marta curled into a ball and wept as she held the child to her chest.

“I should give him a name, don't yous think?” Her tear-strained voice pierced Flora's awareness. “He deserves that much.”

“Yes,” Flora nodded.

“Will yous put his outfit on him, the one yous made?” Marta wiped her red eyes. “I want him dressed like a proper baby boy when Jim sees him for the first time.”

Flora swallowed and cleared her throat, but no sound came. She nodded a second time and reached for the outfit on top of a nearby trunk where Marta had laid it in the midst of her labor pains.

“Here's Jimmy,” Marta held up the wrapped bundle. “I named him for his daddy.”

“I think that's very wise. Jim will be proud.” Flora accepted the silent baby and did her best not to feel as she tried to dress him. None of her previous training had prepared her for this. What had made her think she could do something so important as deliver new lives into the world?

“I kept my promise to him,” Marta said. Flora paused to give her a puzzled look. “He was born…free.” Marta's eyes swam in fresh tears, but she lifted her trembling chin, proud of her accomplishment.

Overcome with emotion, Flora kissed the top of Jimmy's tiny head. It took several moments before she could speak. “Indeed, thee did.” Her bottom lip quivered as she offered Marta a comforting smile and handed back her son.

“If thee is ready, I'll go get Jim.”

Marta wiped her swollen eyes and brushed her hair from her face. She straightened her shoulders and clenched her jaw. “I'm ready.”

Flora scooted to the edge with her awkward knee and climbed down. She walked over to where Jim sat on a log with his head hanging in his hands. She touched his shoulder. “Jim, thee may go in now.”

He bolted to his feet and rushed past her. Bruce and Irene approached from opposite directions. Bruce was quiet and resolute, while Irene wept, shaking her shoulders.

“Flora, I'm so sorry. Please…please forgive me,” Irene said, choking out the words.

Shrinking back, Flora folded her arms over her middle. “It isn't thy fault, Irene. There's nothing to forgive. We both know thee has always had a weak stomach. Bruce was able to help me, so all is well.”

Bruce took a step toward her and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but hesitated when she held up a hand to stay him.

“I'm sorry, but I need a moment to myself. Please…” She turned on her heel, the tears in her eyes blinding her. Flora walked to the water barrel and cleaned herself as best as she could. The cold air made her fingers and limbs as numb as her heart. Without a word, Bruce draped her cloak over her shoulders. She clutched it over her chest and strode away.

“Don't go far,” Bruce said. “It will soon be dawn and we must move on to a more hidden spot.”

As she walked, the numbness gave way to an aching pain deep inside. Hot tears blazed a trail down her cheeks as the back of her throat throbbed. Her insides quaked with the sobs she finally released into the air. So many thoughts ran circles in her mind. Should she have demanded they stay at the Brown farm? Perhaps she should have tried to turn the baby sooner? What else could she have done to prevent little Jimmy's death? On she walked, mindlessly following the dirt road, not caring where it led.

Ignoring the pain in her bad knee, she lowered herself to sit and let guilt wash through her with each sob that shook her body. If she could feel like this, how much worse must it be for Marta and Jim? She sobbed even harder for the depth of grief her friends must be feeling.

“God…for—” The words lodged in her throat, but she had to force them out. He was the only one who could help her bear the guilt. “Please…f-forgive me.”

“Flora!” Someone called her name, but the mire of confusion prevented her from caring. She dropped her chin to her chest, waiting in silence for God's comfort to ease her distress as He had in the past.

“Flora.” Bruce touched her shoulder and bent beside her. “Dawn is here. We must go.”

She shook her head. “Thee was right, Bruce Millikan. I was the wrong person for this mission. Their baby died because of me.”

“No, Flora, listen to me.” Bruce moved to his knees in front of her, lifting her chin. He looked into her eyes, his gaze deep and assessing. “I was wrong. God knew this would happen and thee would be the best one to handle it—to help console Marta. It would have happened no matter who tried to deliver him. And you likely saved Marta's life.”

“I don't believe it. Someone with better skills could have saved him. I didn't have enough experience, and I'm not a doctor.”

“That doesn't matter.” Bruce leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers, his voice lowering, “Flora, after watching thee work so hard to save his and Marta's life, I've developed respect and admiration for thee. I promise, no one could have done better—not even a doctor.”

“But I feel responsible.”

“Don't do this to thyself.” He cradled her face with both hands. “I was there. I saw what happened, and none of it was thy fault. Grieve if thee must, but no guilt or blame belongs to thee.”

Having him near brought warmth to her shivering body, a strange comfort from a man who had spent so many years making her miserable. She wanted to believe him, but the idea of trusting Bruce Millikan wasn't easy. “Thee is only hoping to calm me, so we can get moving now that it's dawn.” She tried to back away, but he held her face and lowered his head.

Bruce's cool lips touched hers, surprising her into silence, a rare submission. His tender touch gentled without him losing his firm hold on her. It was as if he willed Flora to believe in herself as he did. Caught in a whirlwind of unexpected passion mixed with a deep desire to be loved and valued, Flora allowed her emotions a moment of free rein. It felt so good to finally be cherished—to win the approval of Bruce Millikan.

This was Bruce!

Flora stiffened as familiar fear slithered up her spine, breaking the dangerous spell he'd cast over her. She jerked back. How could she be so gullible? Would Bruce now taunt her with the liberties he'd taken and she'd given?

He stared at her in wild confusion, blinking as if clearing his thoughts. Flora laid a hand across her chest, bracing for some crazy accusation or angry retort. Instead, Bruce groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. Remorse etched his somber expression.

“Flora, please forgive me. I shouldn't have done that. I only wanted to console thee.” He took a deep breath and looked away.

Of all the reactions she could have anticipated, his regret was something she hadn't considered. Fresh pain pierced her wounded heart. In a matter of seconds, Bruce had managed to resurrect her hopes, and then shatter them with one expression and an apology. What could the man be thinking?

Bruce mentally chastised himself over and over as he and Flora walked back to the wagon. He didn't touch her. Instead, he kept a respectable distance. He couldn't trust himself not to take her in his arms again. Nothing could change the fact that he had wanted to comfort her and take away her pain. His timing was wrong, and he shouldn't have taken advantage of her in such an emotional state.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to regret kissing her. His apology had been forced, but he knew when she pulled back that she was uncomfortable. He'd worked so hard to rebuild her trust. How would she feel about him after this?

For a moment, Flora had responded favorably. Their shared intimacy would always be a treasured memory. He prayed she would see past his desire and recognize the growing feelings he had for her. She wasn't some passing fancy that would disappear with the end of this trip. What he felt for her was lasting, and he suspected had started years ago, even if he hadn't been wise enough to realize it until now. He wondered if she could come to feel the same way about him.

Bruce cast a sideways glance at her. Flora kept her gaze on the dirt road before them. Daylight grew brighter by the minute, and they risked being seen if he didn't find a hiding place for them soon. He sighed from the heavy burden on his mind. Today they would have to bury Jim and Marta's little one. This was one part of the mission he'd hoped would never come.

They arrived back at the wagon before any riders or coaches met them on the road. Flora didn't want Marta to move, so she rode with her inside the covered wagon, while Irene accompanied Bruce up front. Jim agreed to ride inside the secret compartment as Bruce hunted for an appropriate spot to hide them.

He spied some bushes leading to a thick pine forest. Bruce swung wide and maneuvered them through, stopping long enough to cover their wheel tracks with some shrubbery and leaves. They rode deep into the woods. Once he had parked and set the brake, he turned to Irene. “I'm going to scout the area to make sure no one is within hearing distance. Don't build any cooking fires or unpack anything until I return. Thee can let Jim out, but keep him hidden inside the covered wagon.”

It took him over an hour to walk a wide circle around the area as he climbed up and down steep hills, careful not to slide on the thick bed of pine needles and cones lying about. Bruce didn't see any houses or evidence that there were people living nearby. On the way back, he found the perfect spot to bury the baby. There was a wide pine tree with a deep crevice at the roots, resembling a cradle.

Once Marta saw it, she agreed. Bruce dug a hole as deep as he could with his knife and carved little Jimmy's name into the bark of the tree trunk. They found several rocks to cover the tiny grave. Bruce read a passage out of the Book of Psalms as they bowed their heads in prayer.

The rest of the afternoon passed in somber silence with the exception of Marta's muffled weeping and Jim's soothing voice attempting to console her. While Irene worked on knitting a pair of gloves and napped, Flora read from her Bible and studied the Midnight Star quilt. At one point, she bent over and cradled the quilt as if seeking solace from it.

Bruce lay on the front wagon bench and dozed after brushing down the horse and checking the animal's shoes. He watched Flora weep on her mother's quilt, using it to wipe her tears. His chest constricted. “Flora, please don't blame thyself. It wasn't thy fault.”

She sniffled and glanced up at him. “I was thinking about the three babies my mother lost when I was a little girl. She grieved for months for each one. They were all two years apart.” Her voice faltered. “That's when I decided I wanted to be a midwife—so I can save the lives of babies. This quilt is a reminder of Mother's faith in me. I'm afraid she'll feel that I let her down when I return and tell her I couldn't save Marta's baby.”

“She'll feel proud that thee saved Marta's life, and that thee consoled her and was a true friend,” Bruce said.

Two days later, they rode into Charlottesville. Until now they had ridden around towns to avoid people, but this time their station was inside the city. Mountaintops graced the skyline in the distance, showing a splash of yellow, orange, and dark red leaves mixed with the brown shades of empty tree limbs. He wondered if it was still the tenth month or if time had already passed into the eleventh.

Bruce kept a watchful eye on people as they nodded in passing. No one appeared too curious about the new strangers in town. Perhaps they were used to all kinds of people passing through. With a bounty hunter on their heels, the less they were noticed, the better.

Irene couldn't remember how to guide him through town to the Saferight farm, and the Midnight Star quilt didn't provide enough detail on individual streets.

“Flora, we need thy help,” Irene called through the opening of the covered wagon.

“What's the matter?” Her head appeared a moment later.

“I can't tell what street we're on.” Bruce pointed to the quilt spread out on his and Irene's lap, keeping them warm. He held the reins in his left hand, keeping an eye out for traffic in front of them.

Flora bit her lip as she assessed her surroundings. She squinted as the morning sun shone bright upon the melting frost still clinging to rooftops and the tops of trees. “I think it might be because this road didn't exist when Mother sewed the Midnight Star.”

They came to a corner street with a wooden sign. Bruce turned right where more merchant shops lined the road. “Well, it looks like we found Main Street. Where is the Quaker church? Does thee remember?”

“There isn't one,” Flora said. “Not many Quaker families live here, and the few here meet at my uncle's house. There's the courthouse up on the hill.” Flora pointed straight ahead to a brick building with white columns. “I believe that steeple over the other buildings to the left belongs to the Presbyterian church. That means thee will need to turn left on the next street.”

They passed a tavern, a tailor shop, a print shop, and a gunsmith, then made the turn. At the second block, a wooden sign indicated they were now on Church Street.

“Is this the right way?” Bruce raised an eyebrow at Flora and Irene. They looked at each other.

“I remember the church and the courthouse,” Irene said, scooting to the edge of her seat. “At the end we'll take a right, and our aunt's house should be down that street.”