Path of Freedom (7 page)

They came to the bank where water poured faster over the rocks along the edge. Flora spotted a smooth ridge where they could ease in without jumping from a high distance.

“What ’bout snakes? I'm scared o’ snakes.” Marta jerked her arm back and hesitated.

“It may be too cold for snakes. Besides, we don't have a choice. Just keep praying for the Lord to protect us.”

The cold water soaked their clothes as they gasped from the frigid shock. Flora took deep breaths, determined to convince her body that it wasn't as bad as it felt. The water was only up to their chests in this part of the river. They traveled along the edge until Flora saw a fallen tree wedged between some rocks in the water. She pointed. “We'll hide under that.”

“Looks…like a…beaver dam…to me,” Marta said between shivers. “God…be with us.”

“Here, hang onto this tree trunk.” Flora pulled Marta's hand over the bark where a strong branch jutted out and would hide her. “Thee should be safe here until Bruce can come back for thee.”

“You can't leave me ’ere like this!” Marta grabbed Flora, her tone frantic.

The dog's barking grew louder.

“It's too small for us both. I'll try and find a place to hide on the other side, or nearby.” Flora lifted a finger over her lips.

“No matter what, be quiet.”

Flora held her breath and ducked under the water with the intention of surveying the other side. The current gripped her skirt and sucked her toward the middle, where it was deeper. She floundered, groping for any steady object she could hold onto, but there was none.

Finally, she rose to the surface and gasped for air, flailing her legs and arms. If only she had learned to swim. The bubbling water carried her forward, and she slammed into a rock. Pain ripped through her elbow as the current pulled her back under.

Bruce paused at the sound of a rifle echoing through the woods. It vibrated through him like blood thundering in his veins. His gaze met Jim's and then Irene's. Both their eyes widened in fear.

“I'm going after ’em.” Jim turned in a circle and sprinted east.

“No!” Bruce dropped his load of firewood. Jim was quick, but Bruce managed to catch him before he got too far. Jim tried to yank free, but Bruce held his shoulders tight, both men breathing hard.

“Listen to me. It may only be hunters, and we can't risk exposing Marta and Flora if they haven't yet been discovered.” Bruce shook Jim to make him pay attention. “We can't panic. We need to stay calm so we can think clearly. They're depending on us. All right?”

Jim nodded, breathing heavily.

“If I let thee go, will thee agree not to run after them?”

“Yeah, but what's we going to do?”

A dog barked. The sound of limbs thrashing about alerted Bruce to how close they were to being discovered themselves. Bruce tried not to tremble as he imagined Flora and Marta running through the woods, frightened.

“Let's get out of here. I need to get thee and Irene to a safe place so I can come back and look for them.” Bruce nudged Jim toward the wagon.

“Not without me.” Jim said, his jaw vibrating as he blinked back tense emotion. “If anything happens to her, I don't know what I'll do.” He shook his head, wiping tears from his face.

“Keep thy faith.” Bruce gripped his shoulder, ignoring the dreaded pool of concern in his own gut.

When they reached the wagon, Irene clutched her stomach as silent tears streamed down her face. “I'm so worried.”

“I know,” Bruce said, pointing at the small campfire. “Pour some water over that and cover it with dirt. And if anyone asks, thee is my little sister and we're visiting relatives outside of Charlottesville.”

“Thee would have me lie?” She wiped her wet face, staring at him in shocked confusion.

“No, for we are brother and sister in Christ.” Bruce opened the false-bottom latch and swung the door open. “Hurry, Jim. We don't have much time.”

Jim slid inside. Bruce and Irene climbed onto the seat. He flicked the reins and clucked his tongue. The horse lurched forward, always quick to obey. “Good boy,” Bruce said.

He traveled at a brisk pace, guiding them back onto the main road. Irene sniffled, wiping more tears from her eyes. He wished she had a similar constitution to her sister. Flora wouldn't be weeping and falling apart but trying to help solve things. An ache seized his chest, an empty void at the realization that Flora wasn't sitting on this wagon bench with them where she belonged.

“Lord, keep them safe and lead me to them.” The prayer came out in a whisper.

“What?” Irene leaned toward him, inclining her ear.

“Thee should try to stop crying so thee won't raise suspicion if we pass anyone.”

“I'm sorry.” She wiped the rest of her tears with her sleeve. “Thee is right. I should try to be strong like Flora.” She straightened her back and lifted her chin, then folded her hands in her lap.

Guilt sliced through him. How had she known what he was thinking?

When he felt that they had gone far enough, Bruce pulled off the road and cut a path into the woods. He found another secure spot and set the brake.

“This time I'm unhitching the horse and riding back for them. It's too far to walk and time is of the essence. I'm leaving my hat here. No need to draw attention to my Quaker roots right now.”

“What about Jim?” Irene asked, her eyes red-rimmed. She pulled her shawl tight around her as she trembled.

“Don't let him out until I return. He'll be too tempted to come after us and search for Marta.” Bruce jumped down and unsnapped the harness. “If anyone happens by, tell them thee is waiting on thy brother to return and that we're only looking for a place to camp.”

Inside the covered wagon, he pulled the saddle he'd thrown over his supply trunk and worked fast to ready his horse. His hands shook with worry. He'd never struggled with fastening a saddle around a horse as he did now. He took a deep breath and slipped a foot into the stirrup and swung his leg over and settled in the seat.

Irene walked toward him. Her shoulders continued to tremble and her eyes swam with tears, but he didn't have time to comfort her. “Irene, I know thee is scared, but I need thee to be strong and pray.”

“I will.” She nodded. “I'll pray by the wagon so Jim can hear me.”

“There's a good girl.” Bruce gave her an approving smile before whirling his horse around. He nudged his heels into the animal's sides and clicked his tongue, signaling him into a gallop.

Bruce prayed as the cool wind rushed against his face. As he drew near, the sound of a barking dog alerted him to the direction to take. Bruce dismounted and tied his horse to a tree and proceeded on foot, stepping around leaves and branches as softly and slowly as he dared.

“Well, Jethro, looks like we lost ’em.”

Bruce peered around a tree to see a man in his mid-thirties carrying a rifle. He bent down and patted his white and brown spotted hound. “I didn't get across the river in time.” He sighed, lifting off his brown hat and scratching his shaggy brown head.

The dog grunted, wagging his tail.

“Well, come on. The wife will have breakfast waitin’.” The dog circled him and followed him west.

Bruce waited until they were out of sight and hearing before venturing toward the sound of water. The man had said he'd crossed the river. Why would he do that if he hadn't seen them by the river? He hadn't been wet, so maybe he'd taken the time to cross by bridge further down.

On instinct, Bruce trekked east. If the man hadn't found them, perhaps they went the opposite way, which would mean he didn't track them far enough. At twenty paces he ran into a sign nailed to a tree. “Private Property—No Trespassing.” That might explain why the man had not gone any further.

Bruce had no choice; he kept going. He scanned the banks, straining his ears for any unfamiliar sounds or sights. Not even a piece of ripped clothing gave him a clue. The longer he looked, the harder his heart thumped with fear. He wondered if it would be safe to call their names at this point. Only the sounds of running water and an occasional bird flying through the air.

He kept going and stopped after another twenty paces. Looking around, he didn't see any signs of human life. He listened to his heart, paying attention to all his instincts. It was safe. “Flora!” He kept his voice low enough so it wouldn't carry too far but would reach her ears if she was nearby.

“Mister Bruce!” Marta called.

Hope lifted in his chest as he ran toward Marta's voice. He saw a fallen tree, squinted, and spotted her dark head bobbing out of the water. No sign of Flora.

“Oh, Lord, please let her be safe.” He whispered the prayer as he hurried down the bank, careful not to lose his footing.

Marta burst into tears.

“I'm coming! Hold on.” He stumbled into the water, grateful it wasn't over his head and he wouldn't have to swim to reach her. The cold water took his breath away.

When he reached her, she let go of the log and threw her arms around his neck, crying so hard he couldn't understand her words. He had to calm her so he could ask about Flora. She sputtered and sniffed, making her words unintelligible.

“Irene and Jim are safe at the wagon. I've moved it to a better location.” Bruce swept her into his arms, thinking she might be mumbling about Jim. Her trembling was so violent, he realized he would have to get her back to the camp and warmed up by the fire as soon as possible or hyperthermia might set in.

Once they reached the bank, Bruce paused to take a deep breath. “Marta…where's Flora?”

“I don't…know. She said…there wasn't enough…limbs to cover us both. She went under the log…and I ain't seen…or heard from her since.”

“Let me take a quick look for her. Wait here and be as quiet as possible. I'll be right back.” He set her down and covered her with his coat, then hurried back to the river where the log lay.

“Flora!” He scanned the water, looking for a piece of clothing, any sign that Flora might be nearby. No response. Anxiety slithered up his spine, leaving a trail of worry. He shivered. “Flora!” Still no sound. He walked a little further down. “Flora!” No response.

After a few moments, he realized he'd better get Marta to safety and warmth. His steps were heavy as he returned to Marta. “I'll get thee back to Jim and Irene. Then I'll come back for her.”

Hoping he'd made the right decision, Bruce set the horse in motion. His heart pounded to their galloping pace. Flora was strong and full of wisdom. She had to be all right. He couldn't imagine anything else. His heart wouldn't allow it.

F
lora bobbed between rocks and crevices, skinning her knees. She stayed afloat long enough to catch her breath. “Help…Jesus!” Back under she went. Her heart pounded against her bruised ribs as the air in her lungs pressed for freedom.

Moments later the water calmed, and she drifted into a boulder. She kicked until her feet found the soft bottom. Out of breath and energy, she sagged against the huge rock. She glanced over at the bank and groaned. Blinking to clear her blurry vision, she tried to judge the distance. It looked too far. What if there were places over her head between here and there? She couldn't take the risk, at least not so soon. She would have to wait until she'd rested and regained some of her strength. Flora shivered, eager to climb upon the rock and rest in the sun.

“Help me…Lord.” Her ragged voice rasped between breaths.

Flora's skirt tangled around her knees when she tried to lift her legs, and they sank back into the water as if chained. She wouldn't give up. Gritting her teeth, Flora jumped up and grabbed onto a knob on the rock. Her hand slipped and the hard surface bit into her fingernails, cracking and pulling on them until she managed to haul her body up, soggy skirts and all.

Her breaths came in quick gasps as she crawled on sore knees to the center of the rock where it was safe. She collapsed onto her stomach. “Argh!” Pain sliced through her ribs. Flora turned on her side when the pain subsided, making it easier to breathe. Her chest expanded and contracted, but more slowly with each gasp.

“Lord, please protect Marta,” she whispered. “Don't let anyone find her but Bruce.”

An image of Marta's hazel eyes as Flora was leaving came to mind. Frightened. Worried.

Guilt stripped Flora of all thought as she squeezed her eyes shut and tears trickled through her lashes. “Please forgive me. I didn't mean to cause this.”

She wondered how long Bruce would search for them. He would probably find Marta first. Flora knew he'd keep searching for her, but for how long before he thought it endangered the mission? Would he make the decision to go on without her? Once Irene told him she couldn't swim, he would probably assume the worst.

Fear gripped her heart in icy terror, sending another tremor through her body. The sun had helped, but not fast enough. She couldn't keep her lips from quivering. Turning to face the sun, Flora let the heat embrace her face, no longer caring if her pale skin darkened with color. Warmth was all she craved at the moment. Once she achieved that, she'd concentrate on the next step.

Flora closed her eyes and breathed slowly and deliberately, thankful for each breath of fresh air. She listened to the steady flow of water all around, strangely calmed by it after nearly drowning earlier. As her shivering faded, a languid fatigue soothed her body. Her worn muscles felt as if someone had tied a fully packed trunk to each limb.

“Lord, please keep the others safe. Lead Bruce to me before he gives up and assumes the worst.” The whispered plea fell from her tongue and ended in a sigh as she realized the irony of it all. To think how many years she had spent avoiding Bruce Millikan. Now she lay here in dire need and the one person she prayed would find her—was none other than Bruce. She laughed aloud at her own folly. A bird flew across the sky chirping, as if mocking her.

Would Bruce chastise her for not hiding her Quaker speech and keeping them all from danger? Would he be angry at her for running to the river rather than back to the wagon? Perhaps he would be livid at her for separating from Marta. At any rate, no matter what she could have done, Bruce would no doubt feel she had made the wrong decision. She'd never been able to please him.

Wrapping her arms around her, Flora consoled herself with the thought that God was the only one she needed to please. In her heart, she knew she had done what she thought was best. The one thing that she could have done differently was conceal her speech. Would such an act of deception be worth saving their lives? Where was her faith? Flora rolled over on her side, allowing a single tear to slip out of the corner of her eye and down her temple, where it trailed the hairline to her ear.

“Father, where does one's faith meet the common sense thee gave us?” She bit her bottom lip in worry. “Is the line truly as blurry as it appears right now? Please forgive me and help me see thy will more clearly.”

Flora's rampant thoughts grew distant as she struggled to stay awake and alert. Fatigue claimed her senses until she could no longer keep her eyelids open. She yawned, unable to resist the slumber that seized her.

“Flora!” Where could she be? Bruce climbed over the rugged path banking the river. His booted foot slipped in a patch of mud. He braced himself, throwing both arms out to regain his balance as he kept going. Something moved in the water. It looked like a torn piece of cloth snagged on a piece of driftwood. His heart skidded with a start. Bruce plowed into the water, gasping as the cold wetness seeped into his clothes and against his skin.

Irene had warned him in a tearful state that Flora couldn't swim. He pushed through the water, pressing through the current until it was deep enough to swim. Bruce swung his arms and kicked as hard as he could, chasing after the log. The current was strong, but he wouldn't give up.

He reached out to grab the log, but it rolled from his grasp. Swinging his other arm around, Bruce gripped it tight. He pulled himself up and grabbed the gray cloth, recognizing a piece of Flora's skirt.

“God, please don't let anything happen to her.” He closed his eyes and squeezed the cloth. Panic pulsed through his chest, slicing through fear and guilt. Should he have waited to take Marta back? For a moment, he couldn't breathe, and he held onto the log, allowing the current to carry him in the direction it would have most likely carried Flora. “Father, help me find her,” he whispered, his voice raspy and strange to his ears.

As he floated on the log, Bruce scanned the area around him, looking for any other movement or more clothing—anything. The current shifted and swirled him, and then he saw her, lying on a rock, face down. Was she conscious?

“Flora!”

She didn't move.

Bruce pushed off of the log and swam toward her, hope giving him renewed strength. He reached the boulder and hoisted himself up beside her. “Flora, speak to me.” Bruce brushed her damp hair from her face. Water dripped from his hand onto her closed eyelids. She gasped and jerked, blinking and wiping her face.

“I'm sorry,” Bruce said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I was worried when thee didn't answer.”

“Bruce?” Her blue-gray eyes widened. “Thee found me!” She tried to sit up, a mixture of relief and excitement replacing her groggy state. At the sudden movement, her face fell into a frown, and she winced. “Marta?”

“She's fine.” He leaned forward to help her, but she held up her palm. “I'm fine. Only bruised…everywhere.” She wrinkled her face as she forced herself up with a groan. “I lost count of the number of rocks I crashed into.”

Her gaze fell where her skirt had ripped, exposing a two-inch bloody gash on her knee. She pulled the rest of her skirt over the area.

“My elbow is just as bad.” She held it up, as if trying to distract him. Indeed, she had scraped it well, and blood caked her skin. It didn't appear to be broken since she could move it, but he still wasn't sure about her leg or ribs.

“Flora?” He touched her chin, but she turned away, unwilling to trust him.

“I told thee, I'm fine.”

“No broken bones?” Ignoring the disappointment, he raised an eyebrow, watching her stubborn countenance as she set her lips in a thin line and shook her head. “I need to make sure before I try to move thee, so I can figure out how to get thee back to camp.”

“I ought to know if I have any broken bones.” She softened her tone and met his gaze with a wince. “I fear I may ache all over for days to come. I'm sorry, Bruce.” The whispered words made his heart constrict.

“What for?” He brushed her hair back to better see her profile, not caring if she slapped him. She kept blinking, but no tears fell from her long lashes. Again, he took her chin and turned her toward him. “Why, Flora?”

Her red-rimmed eyes swam, but she gulped back her emotion as he'd seen her do countless times before—as a child when others were teasing her. She took a deep breath, her spirited determination returning. “Because I almost exposed the mission, but I promise it won't happen again.”

In that moment, Bruce wanted to kiss her. With all she'd suffered to save Marta, Bruce's esteem of her grew beyond his secret infatuation. Marta had told him everything—how Flora had jumped into a river, knowing she couldn't swim, so that the dog trailing them would lose their scent. Now she expressed more concern over the mission than her own wounds and discomfort. He had been wrong and Pastor John had been right. Flora Saferight was the perfect woman for this job—now he just had to find a way to keep her safe so she wouldn't risk her life again.

He stared at the endearing freckles across the bridge of her nose, dotting the tops of her cheeks. Her full pink lips looked swollen, as if she'd been biting her bottom lip in distress. He leaned forward.

“Bruce?” She touched her fingers to her lips. “Why is thee staring at me like that? Did I cut my face? Do I look dreadful?” She trembled and scooted away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze. “Don't think me vain, but I was never a pleasant sight to behold. I hope I haven't gone and made things worse.”

How could he admit that he had been about to kiss her? She'd probably find enough energy to slap him right off this rock. Hadn't she already made it clear that she didn't want him to touch her? Well, for the time being she would have to bear it. She needed his help getting back, but he didn't have to humiliate himself with an admission of how he felt or what he'd almost done.

“Believe me, Flora Saferight, there is nothing plain about thee other than thy clothes.”

“My bonnet.” She touched the top of her head. “I lost it in the river.”

“No matter. Looks like thee lost part of thy skirt as well.” He chuckled, dropping the piece of cloth he'd found onto her lap.

“Where did thee find this?” She wrinkled her lips as she picked it up with two fingers.

“Hanging on a floating log.”

“God answered my prayer.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling and rendering him as still as a tree trunk. “This ripped from my skirt to give thee something to follow.”

“Hasn't thee always believed in prayer?” Bruce bent one knee and wrapped an arm around his leg.

“Of course, but not like this. It was so immediate and here's the evidence.” She held up the torn material. “I was frightened that thee would believe that the worst had happened and go on without me…for the sake of the mission.”

Remorse shuddered through him in waves of past memories. He had once left her hiding during a game of hide-and-seek, convincing the others she had gotten angry and gone home. How could she know that he would have turned this county upside down looking for her?

He leaned toward her, taking her hand in his. For once she didn't jerk away, but merely stared at their hands as if he'd just grown fur. “Look at me, Flora.” He waited as her hesitant gaze traveled up his shirt, to his chin, and met his eyes. “If anything like this ever happens again, I give thee my solemn promise not to leave thee behind. I would have to see proof of thy demise before I would carry on without thee. No matter what, I'll always come back for thee.”

She stared at him, openmouthed. He waited, but she made no response.

“Flora, does thee understand me?” He squeezed her hand for emphasis. “Please believe me.”

Her slender hand trembled in his. To his disappointment, she pulled away from his grasp and folded her hands in her lap. She gave him a skeptical stare. “Careful, or else I might be tempted to think thee has become a true gentleman after all these years.” A mischievous grin curled her lips.

“Indeed, I have.” Hope smoldered inside Bruce.

Flora licked her bottom lip as if contemplating her next words. She lifted her chin. “I'll never believe it.”

Afraid of drowning again, Flora didn't argue with Bruce when he instructed her to place her arms around his neck. He swam to the shore with her on his back. She tried to kick so she wouldn't be such a burden, but her muscles felt like heavy iron. Now she wondered if this had been such a good idea.