Path of Freedom (17 page)

“The first patient call Clint and I went on was for a little boy who has pneumonia. We must pray for him. The second call was for a woman who had been in labor for about eight hours. It was her fourth child, and the baby came fast. Clint allowed me to deliver her. He introduced me as the midwife.”

“And thee finds that exciting?” Belinda gave her a horrified stare. “I would be scared half out of my wits.”

“There's something enthralling about bringing a precious new life into the world.” Flora met her cousin's green eyes. Belinda's fingers kept moving without pause as if she could sew in her sleep. She looked down at her work, her blond hair pulled back into a tidy bun. “It reminds me of the miracle birth of Christ,” Flora said.

“I've no doubt that God has given thee the grace for the midwife skills.” Belinda shook her head. “I'm glad He didn't call me to it, for I fear I'd be a huge disappointment. Cousin, it goes to show how very special thee is.”

“Indeed, I feel much the same way,” Irene said. “I tried to help with Marta on our mission, and I failed miserably. I don't know what Flora would have done without Bruce's help.”

“Well, if we were all as pretty as thee, Irene, the rest of us wouldn't need to work so hard on our talents.” Flora went to her sister and laid an encouraging hand on her shoulder.

“Flora, beauty fades.” Irene patted her sister's hand and gazed into the fire, a rare pensive expression crossing her face. “What man would want a woman without talent? One who is afraid of childbirth?” Her voice faded on the last word.

Flora's heart lurched as she sensed a deeper fear in her sister than she'd realized. “Since when has thee been frightened of childbirth?”

“When mother lost three babes after us, and when Marta went through all that pain only to lose the very reward she'd labored so hard for.” Irene's liquid blue eyes searched her own. “Never mind me, I just need some time to get over it. Sounds like a new life was brought into the world today and both mother and child are healthy and fine. Perhaps hearing thy story will make me feel better.”

“Indeed.” Flora nodded, her excitement returning. “The baby was a precious little girl with a patch of brown fuzz upon her head. She cried loudly, demonstrating a sturdy set of lungs. The only complication was a breech. I turned her in the womb and a moment later she was born. This time I didn't lose the child.”

“Flora, little Jimmy wasn't thy fault.” Bruce's soothing voice floated across the room. “It happened. That's all.”

“Deep down I know that.” Flora moved to sit in the same chair where Bruce had sat yesterday. In spite of Clint being there to encourage her, it was Bruce's comforting voice she kept hearing throughout the morning. How could she express that without sounding so strange? “I wish thee could have been there.”

Something flickered in his gaze, but she wasn't sure what. He looked around the room as if in sudden discomfort. Now that she thought about it, he'd seemed quite preoccupied at breakfast.

“Bruce, is something wrong? Thee hardly ate this morning.” She leaned forward. “Perhaps thee is hungry now? I'd be happy to make some sausage gravy and biscuits.”

“No, that's all right.” He held up a hand. “I didn't think thee had noticed anyone else before taking off with Clint.” His voice took on a hard edge. Feeling as if he was once again displeased with her, Flora bristled and sat back.

“Perhaps it was foolish, but I was concerned that thee had only taken two sips of thy coffee, a bite of sausage, ate only half thy eggs and none of thy biscuit.” Flora crossed a leg over her knee and kicked her foot back and forth.

“Wow, that's detailed.” Belinda stared at her. “I don't think I've ever paid that close attention to someone else's plate before.”

“It's only insignificant details,” Flora assured her cousin as she folded her arms. The last thing she needed was for them to mistake the attention she paid Bruce.

“Well, then, tell me what I had and how much I ate of it.” Irene leaned her elbows on her lap and watched Flora with a knowing grin.

“Don't be absurd.” Flora waved a hand in the air. “I happened to notice he didn't eat much. That's all.”

“What did Clint have?” Irene asked.

Flora paused. Not only did she have no idea, but she couldn't even tell anyone what Clint liked to eat. She knew all about Bruce's eating habits. He preferred scrambled eggs over boiled or fried, and sausage over bacon, biscuits over toast, and grits over oatmeal.

All eyes stared at her, as if waiting for a response. The truth would be giving them what they wanted. She couldn't admit to not knowing Clint as well as Bruce. How would it sound if she accepted his courtship? Truth was, she hadn't considered Clint's offer of courtship today, only Bruce's proposal.

“Don't be embarrassed, Flora,” Bruce said, once again coming to her rescue. “I happen to know that thee had only half thy cup of coffee and another glass of water. Thee ate a biscuit with grape jam, all of thy scrambled eggs, two slices of bacon, and no sausage.”

Irene clapped her hands. “That's even better than Flora's memory. I think it's so romantic.”

“But I thought thee liked Clint?” Belinda paused in her sewing to glance back and forth at Flora and Bruce. “Is thee in love with Bruce?”

“Just because one happens to know what another eats, doesn't mean one is in love with that person.” Flora jumped up from her chair with the intention of escaping before Bruce made her regret her blunder.

T
he next morning, Flora rose with the dawn and asked Bruce if he would step outside with her. It was then that he knew her answer. He nodded and followed her to the porch swing. Disappointment riddled him with a mixture of anger and fear as he sat beside her.

“I wish thee would come back with us on the train. Winter is coming, and I can't help worrying about thee out there in the cold,” she said.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Adjusting the hat on his head, he looked out at the sun rising over the ridge of the trees. The rooster crowed, breaking the silence of dawn.

Cold fingers slid over his. It was like a dagger piercing his heart, but he didn't pull away.

“Bruce, please don't be angry with me, but I need more time to pray about our future and to see how things go when we return home.”

He didn't answer. He was angry, and lying would do neither of them any good. She knew him almost as well as he knew her.

“Bruce…please…don't hate me.”

He swallowed the anxiety clogging his throat. “I could never hate thee, Flora.” His voice sounded flat. At least it didn't reflect the pain aching inside him.

She pressed a sealed letter into his hand. “I wrote this last night when I couldn't sleep. Don't read it until thee is close to home. Traveling by train, Irene and I may even beat thee home.”

“Be careful, Flora. Stay in sight of each other at all times. And trust no one.” He chuckled with sarcasm. “Here I am telling thee what to do again.” He lifted his hands as if in surrender and dropped them back on his thighs. The swing rocked them with the sudden movement.

“It's fine. I now understand that it's only because thee cares,” she said.

“A lot of good it did me. I'd better go get the horse and wagon ready.” He started to rise, but Flora grabbed his arm, halting him.

“My decision to stay isn't what thee thinks.” She touched his chin and turned his gaze down to her. He looked into her blue-gray eyes. Fresh pain sliced his gut. Moisture filled his eyes. She leaned forward as if she was about to kiss him, but he pulled away. He blinked and stood with abrupt force. He wouldn't allow her to tease and torment him like this. It was too cruel, even if she did think he deserved it after all his childhood taunts.

“Bruce?” Confusion clouded her expression. “Read my letter. It will explain everything.”

He clutched the paper in his hand, tempted to rip it up and throw it away. Perhaps he would throw it in the campfire he'd make later that night. Instead, he dropped his hands to his sides.

“I hope thee is happy with Clint Roberts.” He turned and bounced down the steps.

“It isn't like that. Thee is mistaken.” Tears now filled her voice, but he refused to turn around. He wouldn't be strong to do what he had to do if he saw her weeping. Forcing his legs to stride faster, Bruce hurried to the stables. First, he would see to his horse.

While his horse ate oats and drank water, Bruce pulled the wagon out into the yard. He checked the brakes and the wheels. A purple-cloaked figure floated toward him.

“What happened?” Irene asked. “Flora's inside crying and won't come out of our chamber.”

“I'm glad thee came out. Is there anything thee would like to take out of the wagon and keep here? If not, I'll deliver it home to thy parents.”

“We already have our trunks. That should be enough to take with us on the train. We appreciate thee delivering the rest.” Irene sighed.

“It's the least I can do.” He nodded.

“Thee didn't answer my question.”

“To be quite honest, I've no idea why she's weeping.” He threw his hands in the air. “I don't know what she wants from me.” He stomped toward the stables to get his horse. “I'm getting out of here before I lose my mind and she manages to destroy what little is left of it.”

“I don't understand.” Irene followed him.

“I always thought Flora was so level-headed and sensible compared to all the other girls. Maybe I was wrong.”

“Thee of all people should know the truth about my sister.”

“Give my thanks to thy aunt and uncle.” He led his horse from the stall and backed him up toward the wagon.

“Thee should tell them thyself.” Irene crossed her arms.

“I think it's better this way, Irene.” Bruce pulled the harness over the horse and fastened the buckles to hitch him to the wagon. “They all know that I'm leaving today.”

“But not like this!” Irene tugged on his arm. “Listen, Flora doesn't love Clint. I know it.”

“So do I, but I can't convince her to change her mind if she believes she'll be happier with him.” Bruce jerked away. “And I won't stand around and watch.”

“I'm afraid both Flora and thee will regret this.” Tears filled her eyes, causing him to pause and reflect on his previous opinion of her.

“Don't worry, Irene. Remember what thee told me? Things have a way of working out.” He tried to lighten the atmosphere between them, not wanting to make things worse. “Flora will feel better in a few days.”

“This is all wrong.” She blinked back tears. “Flora doesn't get upset very often.”

“I know,” Bruce said. “But I can't fix this for her. She's the one with a decision to make.”

Bruce flicked the reins, and the horse stepped into action. It felt awkward not having Flora and Irene sitting on the wagon seat next to him. He scooted to the middle and stretched out his legs, but the emptiness lingered.

Over the next week, he covered a good distance since he didn't have to stop as often as he had when the women were with him. His diet suffered. He missed Flora's pancakes and biscuits, as well as her coffee. He missed the Star quilt. It would have been a nice map on the way back home. Instead, he stayed on the main roads, asked about his location when he came to small towns, and tried to remember the image of the quilt map as he judged distances.

On several occasions he pulled out the letter Flora had given him, but couldn't bring himself to read it. He feared it contained an explanation of her final rejection. As long as he didn't open it, he could keep hoping.

He read the Bible and searched for comforting verses to build his faith and ease his aching soul. By the time he neared the North Carolina border, he was tired of his own coffee and looking forward to seeing his family again. As he drove the wagon up the dirt road between his father's tobacco fields, a sense of belonging and home overwhelmed him. Perhaps once he greeted his parents and brother, he would find some time alone in his chamber to finally read Flora's letter.

Excitement charged the air as people said good-bye to loved ones at the train depot. Others looked forward to where their journey would lead them. As for Flora, she could scarcely get Bruce and his cold departure out of her mind. She wondered if he'd read her letter by now. If she'd hurt him as she feared she had, would her letter make a difference?

The train whistle blew, startling her out of her reverie. Irene laid a hand on her shoulder. “Why is thee so tense? I declare, Flora, thee hasn't been thyself since Bruce left over a fortnight ago.”

“All aboard!” called a man in a dark blue uniform. He wore a jacket with bright brass buttons and stood by a set of portable wooden steps that had been hauled to the entrance.

“Come!” Irene pulled her elbow. “I've got our tickets.” A porter had already secured their trunks in another compartment. Without a word, Flora followed her sister. The massive black engine up front let off a cloud of gray smoke.

“Hurry, ladies!” The man took their tickets. “Soon, we'll be taking off.”

They walked down the aisle, smiling at strange faces until they came to a row with two unoccupied seats. Irene took the one by the window, while Flora sat next to the aisle. She set her bag down by her feet. It contained the Midnight Star quilt and some drawings Daniel had made of Charlottesville. Flora hoped to use them when she returned home to make a memory quilt of her own.

She pulled out the Midnight Star quilt and hugged it to her chest, remembering how Bruce had studied the quilt map as they made their way north. She could only imagine how much harder it would have been without her mother's quilt. Burrowing her nose in the soft material, she breathed in the aroma of cedar. After this mission, she would not only think of quilts as a simple means to stay warm, but as a hidden path of freedom. This mission had not only freed Marta and Jim, but it had released Flora from her past, allowing her to love Bruce Millikan.

“This is so exciting.” Irene rubbed her gloved hands together. “I've wanted to travel by train ever since the first one came to Greensboro earlier this year.”

“Indeed, and I hope this experience is all that thee had hoped it would be.” Flora offered her sister a smile, not wanting to dampen her spirits with her own less-than-cheerful mood.

The whistle blew again and the train lurched forward, slow at first, as the wheels on the tracks gained momentum. They pulled out of the depot and waved at their aunt, uncle, and cousins. Soon, trees were the only sight through the window. The bare limbs passed by in a blur.

Flora laid her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. Perhaps she would get a lot of rest on the way home if nothing else. She'd tossed and turned during the nights at her aunt's house until dark circles formed under her eyes.

“What did thee tell Clint? Why didn't he come with the rest of the family to see us off?” Irene asked.

Flora opened her eyes. Her sister stared at her. Flora sighed, having known this conversation would come sooner or later.

“I told him the truth—that I respected his profession and him as a person, but I didn't feel that I could love him the way a wife should love her husband.” She shrugged. “I told him that I thought he deserved better.”

“Good.”

“Irene!” Flora gave her sister a scolding look. “Never take advantage of a man's affections. Compassion should always be of utmost concern.”

“What I meant is, I'm glad thee didn't entangle thyself with him. I never thought he suited thee.” Irene cleared her throat and laid a hand on Flora's. “I know that his profession was of great interest to thee, but I feared it wasn't enough to bind yourself to him. How boring.”

“I'm not as shallow as all that.” Anger rose inside Flora as she jerked her hand away. Keeping her voice down, she leaned toward Irene. “I only spent time around him to see if anything would come of it. It seemed prudent to at least give the man a chance. Even though he isn't meant for me, he isn't as boring as thee seems to think.”

“Fine.” Irene gave her a slanted smile. “But I believe Bruce suits thee much better.”

“Ah…” Flora twisted in her seat and lifted her pointer finger. “Bruce did say something to thee, didn't he?”

“He did.” Irene nodded. “But for once I've resolved myself to not interfere.”

“But what did he say?” Flora grabbed her sister's arm. “I need to know.”

“Nothing more than he told thee,” Irene said. “He believes thee has settled on Clint. Just think how relieved he'll be when thee arrives home with thy news.” Irene picked up Flora's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“True. I gave him a letter explaining everything before he left.” Flora nodded, regaining her hope.

“Now get some rest,” Irene said. “So those circles will go away.” She pointed to Flora's eyes.

The rumble of the traveling train became a familiar sound that helped them sleep throughout the night. They ate in the dining car when they grew hungry. The window afforded them a beautiful view of the mountains and the countryside.

When the conductor came through to inform them that they would soon be arriving in Greensboro, anxious anticipation seized Flora. Would Bruce be with her family members to welcome her home? She hoped her letter had explained things and eased his temper. When next she saw him, she would know by his behavior if he had forgiven her.

As the train slowed, pulling into the Greensboro depot, Flora leaned across her sister to look out the window. People waited patiently to greet their loved ones; others waited to board. Flora scanned the many faces.

“There they are.” Irene pointed at an angle through the window.

“I can't see them.” Flora squinted and leaned forward a little further.

“Ouch. Thee is squashing me.” Irene wrinkled her eyebrows in discomfort and elbowed Flora.

“Sorry. Just tell me who is there.” Flora tapped her chin, trying not to be impatient.

“Why, Mother and Father, of course, but I don't see Bruce.”

“Is thee sure?” Flora asked.

“Perhaps he intends to give thee time with Mother and Father and to settle down at home before he comes to call on thee,” Irene said.

Acute disappointment filled her with sudden melancholy. She swallowed and shook her head. “No, he hasn't forgiven me. Otherwise, he would be here.”